


Starlight Eclipse

by MapleMooseMuffin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (as writing about writers often tends to be), Anal Fingering, Artist Keith (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Famous Shiro, M/M, Modern AU, Novelist Shiro, POV Alternating, Paparazzi, Riding, Secret Relationship, Sheith Secret Santa 2018, This ended up being way longer than I meant for it to be and I'm so sorry, somewhat meta in certain places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleMooseMuffin/pseuds/MapleMooseMuffin
Summary: Takashi Shirogane is a three time bestselling author, and the Romance King of LGBT+ literature. Keith Kogane is a freelance artist of various mediums, working with an illustration agency to make ends meet. No one knows they're together, and they'd like to keep it that way.But with a crucial charity event coming up that could showcase each of their creative careers, fans and paparazzi alike are foaming at the mouth from the end of the year hype. And with Shiro being regularly recognized on the street, how long can they really hope to keep this under wraps?The host leers ever closer, grinning at Shiro’s flustered state. Keith hates the predatory way she looks at him, on the hunt for some juicy scoop to further her gossipy career. “For someone who exclusively writes romance novels, especially someone as handsome as you, I’d expect you must have some pretty spicy experiences under your belt, too, right?”“I get this question a lot, and I understand where it comes from,” Shiro says kindly, “but I prefer to keep my personal life private.”





	Starlight Eclipse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



> Hello Rie! I'm your secret santa!~ 
> 
> I hope you don't mind how long this is... I liked your wishlist a lot and I sort of went overboard, haha!
> 
> I did my best, and I hope you like it! May this winter treat you kindly.
> 
> Enjoy!~

            By the time the interview section of the morning show comes on Keith’s already settled down on the couch, wrapped up in his throw blanket with half a cup of coffee in his stomach and his sketchbook in his lap. He’s not the most enthusiastic morning person, but he tells himself that getting up early to watch these things will help him build a more productive freelancing schedule.

            Besides, the chance to see Shiro gussied up and under the flattering gaze of expensive cameras isn’t something he’s going to pass up, no matter how early it happens.

            To his credit, he does cram a few warm up sketches into the commercial break before Shiro settles on the host’s red couch. Shiro’s latest book is conveniently sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Keith feels a wave of pride when he sees it; the jacket is definitely one of his better pieces.

            The host introduces Shiro as “Author of the latest New York Times Best Seller,” and picks up the book to show it off. Shiro is beaming in that almost embarrassed way of his, proud of himself but flustered from all of the attention. Keith smiles softly at the screen. He’s adorable. It makes his heart swell with a fond warmth.

            The host starts with the routine questions. “Now, I understand you prefer to go by Shiro?”

            “Yes, that’s correct.”

            “Alright, well Shiro, what can you tell us about _Ephemeral_?”

            Keith grins at the way Shiro leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. There’s a fire that always lights up behind his eyes when he talks about his work, visual evidence of the passion he poured into the pages now resting between the covers Keith so lovingly adorned. The way Shiro’s whole body comes alive as he talks about the novel he spent the past year and a half handcrafting inspires Keith in ways no other muse ever has. He flips to a new page and starts loosely sketching Shiro’s pose as he answers.

            “I think the title gives a pretty good summary. _Ephemeral_ is a word that means something that can’t last for very long. It’s a Greek word, and this is I guess a kind of modern take on tragedy. Star crossed lovers, that sort of thing. Without giving too much away, I’d say it’s…”

            Keith looks up when he pauses, catches the cute tilt of his head and the adorable pinch of his brow. Searching for the perfect words to describe his latest darling. Keith laughs fondly under his breath. Shiro spends so much time with words, it’s just a bit ironic when they escape him like this.

            “It’s about devotion, and loyalty, and finally finding acceptance when you’ve almost given up on it.”

            There’s a far off look in Shiro’s eyes that translates even through the screen. Keith feels a blush prickling up over his cheeks because he knows what Shiro’s thinking about, and it’s not the book.

            The host hums in quiet agreement, running her hand over the cover in her lap. It takes Shiro a moment to blink away the thought and smile at her, shifting his hands in his lap. He’s embarrassed – this isn’t his first interview or his even first best seller, but these televised appearances still make him anxious, especially when he zones out like that. He does a great job covering it up, but Keith can still pick out the little quirks that give him away.

            Part of him wishes he were there to provide moral support, but the rest of him knows he’d rather die than show up as Takashi Shirogane’s plus one.

            “It sounds like a real page turner,” the host says. “Now Shiro, you’ve earned yourself a bit of a reputation, with your last two novels and now this one. Some of your reviews have even started calling you The King of LGBT Romance. What do you say to that?”

            Shiro straightens up before Keith can finish sketching. His face changes into something more serious as he moves, the lines of his face hardening as he nods.

            “I appreciate the sentiment, I do, but I worry that label’s a bit limiting. I don’t want other writers to feel discouraged from writing queer literature, or like they’d be copying me because it’s my _thing_. The more representation we can get out here, the better.”

            The host nods along with him, saying, “Absolutely,” but Keith knows from the way she says it that that’s not the angle she was going for. He frowns, irked the way he almost always is when Shiro does these interviews. Everyone always fixates on the same things when they get Shiro into their chair.

            She crosses he legs and leans closer, like a girl at a sleepover digging for a secret. “Though you know, a lot of people in the community look up to you. You’re a role model. And being someone so versed in the love language of romance novels, it’s not surprising that you’ve gathered quite a few admirers, too”

            Shiro blushes, his ears flushing a deep red as Keith clicks his tongue at the tv. It’s this kind of thing that he hates – the obsession and the personal invasion. Shiro manages to take it in stride, rubbing the back of his neck and saying “So I’ve been told,” but Keith knows if it were him on that sofa he’d be a lot less personable.

            The host leers ever closer, grinning at Shiro’s flustered state. Keith hates the predatory way she looks at him, on the hunt for some juicy scoop to further her gossipy career. “For someone who exclusively writes romance novels, especially someone as handsome as you, I’d expect you must have some pretty spicy experiences under your belt, too, right?”

            Keith sets aside his sketchbook.

            He trusts Shiro. He’s made his position in all of this very clear. But the question still makes his stomach flip with a traitorous anxiety. It puts him on edge, leaning forward, arms crossed against his thighs, waiting to see what Shiro will say. He won’t tell her. He knows he won’t. But he _could_.

            “I get this question a lot, and I understand where it comes from,” Shiro says kindly, “but I prefer to keep my personal life private.”

            Keith sighs, sinking down into himself. Of course Shiro wouldn’t tell her. He knows how much Keith doesn’t want to be involved in the public eye.

            The host tries to dig up something, saying, “At least tell us, is there someone special in your life?” But Shiro shakes his head and insists he won’t go into it. She sighs but transitions smoothly to her next topic. “Well hopefully you won’t be as tight lipped about this: we’ve heard there’s a unique arts auction being set up at the end of the year to raise money for the LGBT community, and you’re front and center.”

            Keith takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. It’s freezing in the apartment, meaning the coffee is ice cold and disgusting. He huffs and burrows deeper into his throw blanket while Shiro advertises the event.

            “Yeah, the Altea Art Foundation is partnering up with Castle of Lions, which is a charity that does a lot for the community, from inclusive teaching programs about safe sex to providing financial assistance to homeless teens. They change lives for the better every day and I’m so honored to be able to contribute.”

            “And what sort of things can we expect to see at this event?”

            Keith glances over at his easel. All of the illustration and digital work lately has made him a little rusty in the traditional department. He should get more practice in before Shiro sends him his part for the auction.

            “We’ve got celebrity artists from all over the community contributing art and literature that will be auctioned off on New Year’s Eve at Altea’s main gallery in New York. I’m working on a pair of short stories that’ll only be available at this auction, and actually,” Keith looks back at the tv at the shift in Shiro’s pitch, and sees he’s pointing at the book on the table, “my artist – the illustrator who did the beautiful jacket for _Ephemeral_ , and my last two novels, too – he and I are partners in this, so he’ll be auctioning some gorgeous companion pieces.”

            Keith can feel his face burning against the chill of his apartment air. _Gorgeous_. “I haven’t even started them yet,” he mutters, burrowing deeper into his blanket. He can’t help giving Shiro a fond look through the screen, though. He’s always over enthusiastic about Keith’s art.

            From the way Shiro glances directly at the camera, Keith knows he knows what kind of look Keith’s sending him.

 

            Shiro comes by Keith’s apartment that evening for dinner. He brings bread and helps Keith finish the prep work for his roast, but Keith can tell he’s a bit worn out. His eyes are tired and he doesn’t make any of his corny jokes while they chop potatoes and peel carrots.

            Once they slide the roast in the oven, Keith turns around and settles his hands on Shiro’s chest.

            “What’s up?” Shiro smiles down at him. Keith kisses his chin.

            “You’re exhausted.”

            Shiro settles his hands gently on Keith’s hips. Keith hums at the warmth and kisses his chin again, even as Shiro speaks. “Just a bit over socialized, I guess. I did a book signing this afternoon, after a reading.”

            Keith runs his hands down Shiro’s chest because it’s there, smiling into Shiro’s cheek at the feel of those muscles. Shiro’s grip tightens just a little, holding him closer.

            “How’d that go?”

            “It was good,” Shiro says, and Keith can hear a rumble of laughter buried in it. Good. Shiro watches him from the corners of his eyes, keeping still so Keith can keep trailing kisses along the side of his face. “We had all kinds of people come up. Kids, adults, moms, elderly people. The sales numbers are so big that I can’t really wrap my head around it most of the time, but actually _seeing_ the people who read my books always blows my mind, you know?”

            Keith hums, kissing his way from Shiro’s jaw to the bridge of his nose. He plants a quick little kiss right on the tip of his nose, grinning when Shiro goes cross-eyed to watch him. Then he pulls back just enough to raise an eyebrow up at him.

            “It’s hard having so many admirers, yeah?”

            Shiro huffs at him, smiling even as he narrows his eyes. “You watched the interview?”

            “Yup.” He pops his p for emphasis. Shiro squeezes his ass and swoops in to kiss him when he yelps.

            “Everyone’s always asking about you,” Shiro mumbles.

            Keith frowns, taking a step back. “No, they’re always asking who you’re seeing.”

            Shiro’s brow pinches, looking concerned, but they’ve had this conversation before. Keith runs his hands down Shiro’s arms, clasping his hands in his, and steps out of his hold. He leans against the counter and traces over the backs of Shiro’s palms to let him know he’s not scowling at _him_ , even though he is scowling. It’s the fans he’s irritated with, not his boyfriend.

            “But you are who I’m seeing,” Shiro says. It has the same rhythm as all the other times he’s said it, gentle and soothing. Keith huffs.

            “ _They_ don’t know that. They only want to know who I am because they want to know who you’re dating. They want to know what your type is.”

            “Baby,” Shiro sighs, soothing and sympathetic as he strokes up Keith’s arm. Keith winces and leans into the affection. He’s not trying to start a fight, he just doesn’t want to be involved in the media nonsense. He wishes Shiro didn’t have to be, either.

            “I’m not mad,” he says. Shiro nods but keeps giving him that worried look. “I’m really not. I just wish they’d leave you alone. Or ask more about your books.”

            Shiro’s hand finds its way to the back of Keith’s neck, stroking his hair as Shiro moves in closer. “I know. I do too – it’s really weird, having so many people admire me like that when I don’t actually know any of them.”

            He leans down to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead, and Keith sighs. Keith wraps his arms loosely around Shiro’s neck as a sort of admission that it isn’t Shiro’s fault. He didn’t ask for nosy fans. He just wanted to write books.

            Shiro ducks his head to press their foreheads together. “You know, somedays I wonder if they’d leave me alone if they knew I was taken by such a handsome guy.”

            Keith snorts. He can’t help smiling at the compliment even as he shakes his head, rubbing their noses together with the motion. Shiro grins, biting his lower lip.

            “They wouldn’t,” Keith tells him. “They’d just get worse, probably. They’d mash our names together.” He makes a face.

            Shiro gets a terrible, thoughtful look on his face and Keith bats at his shoulder. “I don’t know,” Shiro says slowly.

            “Don’t.”

            “Kiro sounds kind of catchy.”

            Keith groans. Shiro laughs and kisses him. When he pulls back he has a more serious look in his eyes. “You never know. They might like you.”

            “Honestly? That’s part of why I don’t want to be involved.”

            Shiro hums, considering it.

            “I don’t know any of those people,” Keith continues. “I don’t want complete strangers to know all about me. It’s personal.”

            “They wouldn’t know everything,” Shiro says. Keith raises a brow at him and Shiro tilts his head, mouth twisting. “Well, maybe they’d know more than most people do.”

            “Your fans know your favorite brand of mac and cheese,” Keith says, crossing his arms.

            Shiro dips his head the other way. “Point taken.” He leans back against the other counter and gives Keith a long look. Keith watches him, trying to work out what’s behind that pensive expression. It’s another few minutes before Shiro says, “What about your art?”

            Keith blinks. “What about it?”

            “Well, don’t you want to be known? If people knew about you, they’d find your art, and see how great it is.”

            Keith shrugs. “If they find it, they find it.” Shiro frowns at him, and Keith sighs. “I don’t want people to like my stuff just because they like me. I’m not my art, vice versa.”

            “You put so much of yourself into it, though.”

            “That’s not what I mean.” Keith pushes off from the counter and moves to check their food. After he’s tested if it’s done, which it isn’t, and tossed the oven mitt back on the counter, he turns around and leans against the oven door. “For you, you got famous because of your work. For me, my work would be getting famous because I’m dating you. It’s different.”

            Shiro nods. “Alright, I get what you mean. It’s disingenuous, is what you’re saying.”

            Keith smiles. “Yeah, that’s a good word for it.” Trust the writer to have a way to describe anything. “It’s like when your aunt says you’re handsome – maybe you are, but she’s mostly saying it because she’s your aunt, you know?”

            “Alright,” Shiro says, pushing up from the counter. “Well I’m saying this as a completely non-biased bystander, entirely unrelated to my being in love with you;” – Keith snorts and tilts his chin as Shiro presses into his space – “your art is amazing, and you deserve to be famous for it.”

            He kisses Keith long and slow, raising a hand to cup his cheek and running his tongue lightly over Keith’s lips. Keith waits a moment before opening up to it. He runs his hands up Shiro’s chest again, thumbing at his collarbone through his thin shirt. He’s got to be freezing in this. Keith’s cold even with the oven right behind him.

            Shiro leaves his hand where it is when he pulls back, stroking his thumb over Keith’s cheekbone. “Also,” he murmurs, voice and eyes heavy with affection, “you are handsome, and I’m totally saying that because I’m your boyfriend.”

            Keith chuckles and pecks his lips.

            “I’m serious though,” Shiro tries. Keith pecks him again. “Your art.” Kiss. “Great stuff.” Kiss. “Worth millions.”

            Keith has to stop so he can laugh. Shiro grins at him, and it rolls over Keith again just how much he loves this adorable man.

            “So long as I can meet my rent checks, I’m happy,” he says.

            Shiro mumbles something about lack of ambition and moves to pull the pan from the oven.

            “Yeah, well if you want to spoil me,” Keith says faux-causally as he fetches plates, “I’m not gonna turn you down.”

            “Oh don’t worry,” Shiro says from over his shoulder. “I have plans.”

 

            That night Shiro swallows Keith down until he comes so hard his vision whites out. Keith takes heavy note to return the favor later on, when his head isn’t spinning the fire Shiro pumps through his veins.

 

            Shiro finds he does his best writing in the late evenings and early mornings. It’s an unlucky combination, because sometimes it cuts into his sleep, but he tries to make it up to himself in the other areas of his life. After his morning writing stints he often goes to the gym, and for his evening sessions he forces himself to snack on fruits instead of chips or other junk food. It’s not much of a counter balance, but it makes him feel good about himself. Besides, as Matt likes to joke, what is an author if not a coffee fueled vampire, anyway?

            Tonight he’s debating another cup of coffee even though it’s already past sundown. It’s been a few days since the interview and the book signings, and for the first time this week he’s finally found time and space to himself, as well as an actual burst of inspiration.

            It came as he was watching tv over dinner, when a trailer for a new action movie flashed across the screen between shows, and suddenly the climactic scene of a classic spy romance thriller was playing itself through his mind, almost too fast to jot down.

            He forced himself to finish dinner before rushing to his laptop, and now he’s halfway through that scene and staring down too many threads of possibility. Normally he likes to establish the characters for himself before writing anything with them, so they can drive the story where he needs, but these two were born like phoenixes, flaring up into existence in a captivating, blinding flash, already ‘locked in the heated throes of both passion and battle.’

            Shiro frowns at that last line and reworks it into something less dramatic. Harlequin novel-esque melodrama is fun to write, but this is his first piece for the auction. He wants it to be more meaningful than that. It has to be worth the amount of money someone is going to donate in order to get it, after all, and more than that, the message of the entire event hits so close to home for him. He needs to do it justice.

            After several typed and retyped lines, he decides to step away from the computer and refocus. He heads to the kitchen and starts up the Keurig, then leans back against the counter to think while he waits. The main problem he’s hitting here is he doesn’t know how the characters are going to react to finding out each other’s identities. Drumming his fingers against the counter, he considers he’s established already.

            There’s Akira, who’s a bit more gruff – definitely in the spy business because he likes the anonymity. He’s a private person, and he’s not quick to trust, so getting close to him is difficult. Shiro’s still working out how exactly he and Sven started becoming as close as they are at the time of this climax, but he knows it wasn’t easy. The question then becomes why Sven kept trying – where did his patience come from?

            The Keurig finishes filling his mug, so Shiro heads back to his desk. He opens a new doc and starts listing out character traits and facts to try and sort the two out on paper. His cursor hovers over why Sven got so close to Akira and he runs through a few options, sipping his coffee. Sven must have seen something in Akira from the start, something that made him want to get to know him. Something relatable. Shiro hasn’t come up with anything for Sven’s background yet. Maybe he and Akira have some elements of it in common. Maybe Sven saw some of his younger self in Akira.

            That seems like a good enough place to start, so Shiro runs with it, taking a detour from the actual piece to patter out long, formless, stream of conscious paragraphs detailing both their backstories. This is for his eyes only, which means it can be a technical disaster if he wants. The important thing is he figures out what he needs to know.

            After about an hour, he’s satisfied with what he’s gotten down. The coffee’s half finished and lukewarm now, sitting at the left of his desk, forgotten once the ball of inspiration really got rolling. He leans back in his chair and mentally surveys his work, slowly smiling as he takes it in. Not every writing session feels like progress, but tonight he definitely feels like he has something good. The characters are rounded and honest, with just enough tragedy to stir up plot driving drama without being overwhelming or heavy-handed. Akira’s standoffish nature stems from abandonment issues now, while he’s decided that Sven was thrust into a leadership role early, and has always felt a pressure to prove himself to be the man others think he is. Their drive to push themselves to the best of their abilities is what brings them together, and what fuels their emotional conflict. It’s dynamic. It’s relatable. It’s perfect.

            It isn’t until after he’s saved the doc and is checking his phone and the messages he missed during tonight’s writing stint that he realizes what he’s done.

            [did u start on the charity piece?] Keith asked around an hour ago.

            [Yeah I’ve got one of those secret agent trope things going here]

            [cliche sells huh]

            [When you mix it up yes]

            [so whatd u do]

            Shiro sends him a quickly summarized version of the backstories and then waits, not quite willing to admit how much he’s hoping for Keith’s approval. It’s hard to judge his own work, especially when he’s just finished it. The creative flow sweeps over a lot of ground, but sometimes it leaves gaping plot holes or gives him major blind spots to simpler things the characters could or should have done. He’s not really sure if this is actually any good, or just seems good to him because he just thought of it.

            The bouncing ellipsis that signifies Keith is typing lingers on the screen for several minutes. Shiro flicks through his other messages and tries to busy himself, but the longer Keith takes to say something, the more anxious he starts to feel. Was it maybe more dramatic than he thought? Too overplayed, even with the emotional weight he tried to add in? Did he make a typo in his text that threw the whole thing off? After another minute he checks over his string of texts, trying not to criticize himself until finally the header pops up that tells him there’s a new message down at the bottom.

            [so u did it again]

            This is the first espionage piece Shiro’s ever done. [What do you mean?]

            [u wrote us]

            Shiro’s eyes widen. He scrolls back up to reread, but already he’s realizing exactly what Keith means. Akira has the same standoffish attitude Keith used to have, back when they first met, back when he was convinced Shiro would send him back to the talent agency his publishers hired for that first book jacket and demand someone more experienced. The way Sven talks to Akira and encourages him to open up is reminiscent of all those late night conversations Shiro started on the little balcony connected to his bedroom. Making promises of faith and loyalty.

            This isn’t the first time his and Keith’s relationship has bled onto the page. It seems like every love interest he’s written since they got together has had some reflection of Keith in him.

            Keith finds it rather funny and loves to tease Shiro about it. “I guess I’m your muse,” he’ll sometimes say. But with their conversation from earlier this week still fresh in his mind, Shiro can’t so easily laugh this off.

            It keeps him up that night, a mix of empathetic worry and guilt settled in his stomach. Is Keith really okay with pieces of himself showing up in Shiro’s writing? Especially when he has such a wide fanbase now? They agreed when they first started dating that they wouldn’t announce their relationship – the press was too daunting and Shiro wasn’t really keen on being harassed about it anymore than Keith was. But there are days when he wishes people knew. Keith is amazing, and Shiro’s so proud of him every day. He wants to brag about him. To show him off and get him the recognition he deserves for being the amazing person that he is. He wants to be able to respond to an obvious advance with ‘Sorry, I already have a great boyfriend.’

            Is writing characters who resemble them in so many ways his way of sneaking it out there? Is he trying on some subconscious level to tell the world despite their pact of secrecy?

            It’s disturbing to imagine himself betraying Keith’s trust. Shiro doesn’t think of himself as the kind of person who would do that to someone. The idea of hurting Keith haunts him and weighs heavily in his chest. He may, of course, be overreacting – a story about spies could just be a story about spies, even if their relationship has similar bonds to his and Keith’s. But this could also be a sign that there’s some unrest in him. Something they should sit down together and talk about.

            By the time his morning alarm goes off, he’s only slept a couple of hours. Still, he knows if he lets himself sleep in, it’ll be that much easier to ignore his alarm tomorrow, and before long he’ll wreck his routine. So Shiro drags himself out of bed and heads to the desk, planning to supplement sleep with caffeine in about an hour, after he’s tiredly pushed through his morning writing session.

            But even though it’s usually easy for him to write when he’s just woken up, Shiro finds himself staring at a blinking cursor for nearly fifteen minutes. The flow of ideas that possessed him last night is dead, and in its place is an uncertainty and a lingering guilt that keep away any creative thoughts that could come to fill its place. After another five minutes of nothing, Shiro concedes a victory to writer’s block and decides a walk in the early morning air will do him some good.

            There’s a local coffee shop about a fifteen minute walk from his building, so he heads that way, deciding that if nothing else, he can at least grab a small breakfast. He smiles and nods to the doorman before stepping out into the early morning sunlight. It’s cold, the early December breeze stinging against his cheeks and his exposed ears, but the sky is a pretty pale blue, devoid of any clouds. The brisk air quickly wakes him, bringing a little more energy to his step despite the lingering frustration from his writer’s block.

            There’s less than a month between now and the auction. The book release and the press that came with it ate up most of his prep time, unfortunately, which means he needs to churn out two great short stories in roughly three weeks, including editing. It’s a herculean task without this hang up, especially when Keith needs copies in advance, in order to make his art pieces. There just isn’t room in the schedule for setbacks, no time to analyze the places where his career and their relationship align, or don’t align. But Shiro isn’t the kind of person who can put his relationship on hold while he sorts his work, nor does he want to be.

            A passing car honks twice as it goes by, catching his attention. Shiro turns just in time to see the passenger waving out her window. He lifts his hand to wave back on reflex, a moment’s confusion giving way to the realization that they must have recognized him from the book jackets and the interviews. They’re a reader. A ‘fan’, although that’s still a word he’s getting used to associating with himself, even three books into his fame. _One of these days I might have to start hiding my face when I go out in public_ , he thinks, and then snorts. Even if he’s been spotted more often lately, it’s not like he has any reason to hide.

            If Keith had been with him right now, though, the casual encounter would probably be a lot more stressful. Shiro frowns to himself as he continues down the street, a bit of unease tingling at the back of his neck. Keith has never liked being the center of attention, especially when people seem to be picking him apart in their minds. Shiro doesn’t blame him for not wanting to be like an animal in a zoo cage, an oddity to be gawked at. And he might be right to worry that would happen if people know they were together. But if strangers are recognizing Shiro on the street, how long will they be able to keep their relationship quiet before someone spots them?

            It might be better to come forward now, in a scenario they can build and control, rather than wait for it to spin out of their hands. Let the public come to know Keith on his terms, instead of through the grapevine. God knows what the media would make up about them if people found out without being told, before Shiro had the opportunity to set the record straight.

            The coffee shop isn’t terribly cluttered – it’s still fairly early, and most people who’ve come here are looking for caffeine on the go as they make their way to work. Shiro falls into place in line and doesn’t have to wait long before his turn. There’s still an itch at the back of his neck that he can’t shake, a sixth sense sort of feeling that warns him to be more aware of his surroundings. It could just be paranoia brought on by this morning’s thoughts of being in the public eye, but it’s still hard to ignore. Antsy, he toys with the edge of the paper bag holding his breakfast muffin and glances around the room. The few people that are seated in the booths all seem busy, noses buried in newspapers or eyes glued to laptop screens. On his other side a young woman who looks to be around college age scrolls through her phone and scratches out notes in a little book every few minutes. In the corner by the door, a man glances up at him over a very familiar looking book.

            “Large hazelnut latte for Shiro,” the barista calls. The man in the corner jumps, wide eyes darting to the pick up counter and back. Shiro buries a wince under a smile and steps over to pick up his coffee before turning back, fully expecting the frazzled way the man clambers out of his seat and hurries forward.

            “Hi!” the man says.

            Shiro nods. “Hello. I see you have _Ephemeral_.”

            He flexes his fingers around the spine of the book in his hands, gripping tighter and then loose again as he glances down and back up with a flustered but huge grin. Shiro is patient as he stutters out a “Yeah! It’s, I mean, I’m only halfway through but, but it’s really good. I also read _Void Time_ when that came out – it’s how I found you. I mean, your work. I mean, like, it’s. The first one I read. Um.”

            Shiro has to step to the side to make way for the next customer as the barista calls for them. He’s acutely aware of all the eyes being cast curiously in his direction, customers in line giving the two of them odd looks, either recognizing him or wondering who he is to have drawn a stranger in like this. The student at their right has stopped taking notes and is now looking up with her own wide eyes. Shiro feels a little guilty for hoping she won’t approach him too.

            The man suddenly presents his book to Shiro, still grinning but looking more anxious now. “Can I- can you sign this?”

            “Uh, yeah,” Shiro says automatically. He signed a few hundred books earlier this week after all. “But I don’t have a pen, so…”

            It looks as though it hadn’t occurred to the man that he’d need something to sign _with_. Shiro feels his awkward guilt sink deeper in as the reader tosses a look over his shoulder at his table, where only a coffee cup sits.

            “Sorry,” Shiro starts to murmur, but a pen is thrust between them from their right.

            “You can borrow mine,” the studying girl says. The man looks like he could kiss her.

            “Okay, thanks.” Shiro takes it and quickly scribbles his signature into the front cover of the book before handing the pen back and depositing the novel in his reader’s hands. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he says. The man nods eagerly and says nothing.

            Extracting himself from the coffee shop is awkward to say the least. After a few beats of staring he tells the man he should get going, and slowly edges his way out the door. It isn’t until he’s outside in the cold again that the pressure that swept over him as soon as he realized he’d been recognized fades away.

            Shiro doesn’t blame Keith for not wanting to have to deal with that sort of thing. It’s humbling and a privilege to meet people who love his work, but it’s hard to feel anything other than vulnerable and inconvenienced when people burst unexpectedly into his routine to talk to him about how much they love what he does.

            His mind latches onto that. Feeling vulnerable when people whom you’ve never met seem to know everything about you. That’s a raw, powerful feeling – exactly how Akira must feel when the agent he’s been fighting against seems to know all his secrets, right before Sven reveals it’s been him all this time.

            That’s the direction he was missing for the scene, a much needed layer of depth and emotion he hadn’t been able to find. The scene starts playing out in his mind’s eye as he walks back to his building, the brick walls of his writer’s block swept downstream like the remnants of a burst dam. If he really dedicates himself, he can have this story finished by the end of the week, and bring it over to Keith so he can work on his companion piece. And while he’s there, maybe they can talk about coming forward to the public on their own terms. After the auction, of course.  At the very least they can work out what they want to do in the wake of Shiro’s rising fame.

            By the time Shiro reaches his building he’s feeling much lighter than when he left. But even as he nods to the doorman again, he can’t quite shake that sensation of eyes on the back of his head.

 

            With such a tight deadline to work in, Shiro decides it’s best to send Keith all his outline notes in work in progress update emails, attaching half finished snippets from his latest writing session every day as he works. Keith’s not unused to drawing from unedited manuscripts. Usually when he does Shiro’s book jackets, he and the editor are sent the final draft at the same time. But seeing Shiro’s personal notes is nothing like skimming past formatting errors and misspellings. The haphazard outlines and stream of conscious character notes Shiro sends him now are so chaotic it makes Keith laugh out loud in his freezing apartment.

            His heart warms in his chest when he sees highlighted notes like ‘looks like a swan, but in a good way’ and ‘prized possession = idk gun maybe?’ They’re little captured pieces of his boyfriend’s thought process, short hand representations of the world inside Shiro’s mind, and Keith can’t hold down his grin as he reads through. Not many people get to peek in at this side of Shiro – certainly not all those readers who are obsessed with his every move. Fans who think they know everything about him, just because they’ve seen him on tv. Keith loves Shiro’s books, but there’s a lot more of him in these unfiltered notes than has ever made it into print.

            Before the week is through, Shiro’s sent him enough information to get started on his first companion piece for the auction. For as much as he teased Shiro for writing the two of them into yet another one of his stories, it’s still Keith who ends up giving the spies an uncanny resemblance to them. For each of the thumbnails he tries, he winds up giving one of them some defining feature of their real life counterparts – a scar too close to the bridge of Sven’s nose, a curl to Akira’s hair that’s too much like his own. In an effort to shake the trend he makes a standalone character sketch, trying to give him every conventionally attractive physical trait he can think of, but the visage that stares up at him in the end is simply a younger, unscarred Shiro.

            He shelves the project for a few days, until Shiro texts him that he’s finished the manuscript and suggests they get together that night and work together on their pieces.

            When Shiro shows up at the door with a leather bag under one arm and a paper bag overflowing with Keith’s favorite Thai takeout, Keith kisses him square on the lips. Then he swipes the bag and hurries off to the island counter, the scent of spices already warming the air of the little open floorplan entry way slash living area.

            “You’re welcome,” Shiro laughs, hanging his coat in the little closet at the side of the door.

            “I kissed you,” Keith says as he lays out the containers across the counter. Shiro makes his way over and runs a hand along the small of his back, settling it against his hip. Keith leans into the overwhelming warmth of his body and grins, more than satisfied with this arrangement.

            “You really need to get the heat fixed,” Shiro says and helps sort the food. Getting plates would mean separating, so Keith just picks food out of the open containers and pops it into his mouth. He sighs, delighted by the flavor that bursts over his tongue.

            “S’not me,” he says around a mouthful. “Whole building’s freezing. The landlord needs to have them fix it.”

            Shiro makes a sympathetic sound and rubs up and down Keith’s back, warming him briefly through his oversized sweatshirt. It may actually be one Shiro left here some other time – Keith’s stolen a few that way and can’t quite remember which ones were Shiro’s and which ones he bought himself.

            “You could at least buy a space heater. Instead of shivering all day.”

            Keith has considered it, but the only decent ones he’s found are a little on the expensive side, and there’s something else he’s been planning on spending that money on. “I’m trying to save up right now.”

            “Yeah? What for?”

            Keith swallows and darts his gaze away. “Oh, you know, just like. Art supplies and stuff. It uh, it can be pretty expensive, you know?”

            He knows he’s a bad liar. He can hear it in his voice, but it’s like watching himself run on autopilot – there’s no way to change how it comes out. He can see Shiro giving him a skeptical look from the corner of his eyes, but thankfully he lets it go. Maybe he just assumes Keith’s saving up for a birthday present – that would be a good cover story, actually.

            “Well, we’d be warmer sitting on the couch,” Shiro says after a few minutes of the two of them picking food straight from the container. Keith leans closer to him, absorbing as much of his body heat as he can in protest before Shiro draws away to grab plates. Keith makes quick work of filling his plate when it’s handed to him and beelines for the couch.

            When Shiro joins him Keith wraps them both up in the throw blanket. They eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

            “So,” Keith says once the worst of his hunger has been satisfied. “Did you make sure you weren’t followed here, Mr. Bond?”

            Shiro huffs and nudges him with his shoulder, shaking his head. “Any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidence,” he quotes. Keith snorts.

            “Uh huh. Just because they print that in the front of books doesn’t mean it’s true.”

            “I’m not _trying_ to write about you as a hardened agent of a secret organization.”

            Keith gives him a wry look and nudges their knees together. “Sure it’s not some kind of latent fantasy you’ve got buried in there?”

            Shiro laughs and pushes him away again. “I’m sure you’d look great in a catsuit.”

            “Damn right.”

            Keith swings himself back up to press into Shiro’s side and hides a snicker in his shoulder. It’s comforting how easy this all is, even if he sometimes feels like he can hardly believe it. It’s never been this easy to be so close to someone before. Moments like this are what make him all the more sure in his plans for the new year.

            After they finish their meal, Keith clears the coffee table and Shiro fetches his leather bag, where he’s tucked a folder with the printed manuscript in beside his laptop. He sets himself up, laying things out and hooking up his charger, while Keith packs away leftovers and then retrieves his sketchbook from where he left it slumped in the armchair.

            There’s a _flumph_ of fabric as Keith drops down in his seat. Shiro offers him the blanket and then the folder.

            “You know,” Keith says once he’s settled and skimming the first page, where Akira is described in brief detail, “it’s probably a good thing I don’t get a picture on the book jackets.”

            Shiro taps in his password and gives Keith a mildly surprised glance. “How’s that?”

            “Because there’s no way anyone could read your descriptions and not put two and two together when they saw my face.”

            Shiro huffs and shakes his head, turning back to his computer. “It’s not _that_ obvious. You just see it because you know the deeper layers.”

            He’s not arguing that this Akira character isn’t basically a hardened spy version of Keith. Keith grins to himself and keeps reading.

            “Does it bother you?” Shiro asks quietly, a few paragraphs later. Keith looks up and frowns.

            “Does what bother me? That Akira looks like me if I were ten years older and could actually grow stubble?”

            Shiro settles his laptop back on the coffee table and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. He doesn’t meet Keith’s eyes. Keith feels a sliver of unease prickling the bottom of his stomach and straightens up, watching Shiro closely.

            “I know you don’t want people to know about us,” Shiro says in that same low tone.

            A flutter of anxiety rushes up in Keith’s chest. He swallows hard. “I don’t.”

            There’s another beat before Shiro turns his head to meet his eyes. Keith’s braced, not sure what to expect after an ominous lead like that. But there’s some kind of apology in Shiro’s eyes, which doesn’t make it seem like he’s going to say something like he doesn’t want to do this anymore.

            “So are you really okay with me basing a lot of my things off you?” Shiro crosses his arms over his thighs, hands hanging loose between them. It’s some kind of defeated pose that Keith doesn’t understand.

            “You’ve been doing it for years now,” he says and moves closer, invading more of Shiro’s space. “Kind of ever since we met, when I started doing your book jackets.”

            “I wasn’t as known back then, though. _Starlight_ came out a year later.” Keith shrugs loosely, but he’s starting to see what Shiro’s getting at. “It’s been escalating since then. _Void Time_ sold 30% more copies, and now _Ephemeral_ is blowing both of them out of the water. People recognize me on the street, now. Not always, but often enough.”

            Keith considers it. If so many people are reading about the bits and pieces of himself and Shiro that are littered throughout those novels, then technically there’s a greater chance they’ll be recognized. “But it’s not always the characteristics. Most of your characters look nothing like us – it’s just in this one,” he gestures to the manuscript still in his lap. “You do project on your work. There’s a lot of us in _Ephemeral_. But it’s stuff people don’t know about us. They probably think you made it all up.”

            Shiro shakes his head. “It’s not just that. I went out the other day for a muffin and wound up signing autographs. If you and I ever go out anywhere together, we’re running the risk of being seen.”

            He pauses, giving Keith enough time for that to sink in. So far they’ve been able to keep their relationship out of the media just by refusing to talk about it. They haven’t had to sneak around to see each other or slip pass the press on their way to dinner dates – no one was ever actively looking for them. If Shiro’s being targeted now by excited fans, it means people are taking greater notice of what he does, when he does it, and most importantly, who he does it with.

            “Eventually we’re going to have to hide it everywhere. Not just when you’re on tv.”

            Shiro nods and Keith sighs. “Is that really what we want to do?” Shiro asks. Keith’s already shaking his head before he finishes.

            “No. That’s shitty. That doesn’t even count as dating.”

            A few moments pass as a quiet acknowledgement of what that means for them. There are two paths to choose from now, and only one of them is palatable.

            “What should we do?” Shiro asks him. Hands him the reigns. Keith shakes his head against any implication that he could choose to end it here.

            “We’ll tell them. Or let them figure it out, but that sounds aggravating more than anything.” He sighs and slumps back into the cushions, crossing his arms in thought. It’s not what he wanted for them, but if it’s a choice between being obnoxiously thrust into the spotlight and giving up what they have between them, then it’s not a choice at all.

“I think it’ll go better if we’re the ones who tell them,” Shiro says. “If we leave it to them, there will be a mess of rumors and nonsense going around.”

            Keith considers that and then nods. “We should be careful about how we say it then, right?”

            Shiro leans back into the couch too then, dropping his head on its back fixing his gaze on the ceiling. Keith nestles deeper into the crook of the couch and the warmth of his throw blanket.

            “I was thinking sometime after the auction. January or February,” Shiro says to the ceiling.

            Keith pulls a face. “Not Valentine’s.”

            Shiro grimaces and shakes his head. “Absolutely not Valentine’s Day.” He turns to look at Keith then, and Keith’s eyes catch on the way the street light from outside outlines his cheekbone. “God, could you imagine the hype?”

            “I’m trying not to.”

            The way Shiro’s face moves as he cracks up and laughs sweeps over the creative piece of Keith’s mind like a tidal wave, churning him over in its wake until he can’t hold it back. Shiro just smiles kindly when he says “Hold that,” and trades the manuscript for his sketch book.

            “You tease me for writing about you so much,” Shiro says while Keith fervently sketches out the long familiar angles of his jaw.

            “It’s different,” Keith tells him, but he knows it isn’t. Shiro tells him as much, but still holds his position, watching Keith sketch with a fond crinkle to the edges of his eyes. Keith’s careful to get the soft lines of them just right.

            “At least I write you into different things. You must have wasted so many pages on just my same face over and over by now.”

            Keith starts to shade, emphasizing the warm glow of the street light against Shiro’s cheek and trying to convey with graphite how much it makes his heart warm and flip in his chest. “It’s not a waste, and it’s not the same every time.”

            No matter how many times he’s tried, he’s never managed to make the two dimensional Shiro’s look nearly as kissable as the real one. When the sketch is done and he leans back to look it over, he still feels like he hasn’t done the real man justice.

            Still, Shiro gives him a low whistle. “That’s amazing, babe.” It’s a ridiculous pet name, really. Not one Keith thought he’d ever like hearing, before Shiro. Now it warms his face while Shiro reaches out to take his hand. “You made me look so handsome.”

            “You are handsome.” Keith turns the sketchbook to let him look for a little longer. Then he sets it on the table and slides into Shiro’s space, curling the throw blanket with him to keep warm. Shiro doesn’t object to the cool hands Keith slides up the back of his shirt. “Handsome and warm.”

            “Yeah?” Shiro tugs him closer, until their chests are pressed together and he can kiss Keith’s hairline. “I can warm you up, if you want.”

            The suggestive hum of his voice is tempting. Keith closes his eyes and settles his head against Shiro’s shoulder for a few minutes, lightly trailing his nails up and down his back the way he knows he likes and basking in the feeling of Shiro gently running fingers through his hair. Shiro likes to tell him he’s basically a giant house cat, with how much he loves being pet. It makes Keith smile even as he slowly pulls away.

            “Gotta work,” he hums. Shiro sighs and turns back to his laptop.

            “Yeah, we should.”

            Keith sneaks a peek at the screen as he leans forward to pick the manuscript back up. “You better write me into something cool.”

            Shiro snorts. “Watch out. I might make you a villain this time.”

            Keith considers it with a hum and skims through the pages to find his place. “That might be fun. It has to be an interesting villain though. Not just the misunderstood hot guy villain. I want to ruin lives.”

            “I could make you a terrible monster.”

            “Sounds about right. Or a dragon.” Keith lifts his head to look Shiro in the eyes. “I want to be a dragon. Burn down villages and hoard things.”

            Shiro taps something out on his keys and nods solemnly. “Dragon it is.”

 

            It’s a productive evening. They’ve been doing these little work-date things since before they were officially dating, and it’s always borne good results. By the time Shiro leaves Keith’s apartment the next morning he has the full outline for his next piece done as well as a good thousand words of the first draft hammered out. Keith for his part made thumbnails and character designs, and the full sketch for the spy story’s companion art.

            By the time they went to bed, they were both too tired to do much more than snuggle, but still it’s one of the best night’s Shiro’s had this week.

            Leaving Keith’s bed in the morning was the hard part. It took a good hour to convince himself to get up, and then another thirty minutes to convince Keith to let his favorite space heater go.

            The city morning is already well underway as Shiro walks back to his place. The road is busy to his left, while the apartment buildings and little shops let a steady flow of people in and out of their doors. Shiro slips into the stream of sidewalk traffic and daydreams about plotlines for the first half of the walk, until he gets to a slightly less crowded block nearer to his building.

            It’s sunny, but cold, colder even than Keith’s apartment. Shiro tugs at his coat, hiking the collar up to try and block the icy breeze brushing against his back, and pauses. Checks his pockets for his phone, wallet, keys. Lifts the leather bag holding his laptop and the manuscript, just to gauge the weight of it. That seems right, but he can’t shake the sense that something is off.

            Slowly he starts walking again and pulls out his phone, opening his calendar app and checking that he hasn’t forgotten some crucial signing or other event. Aside from an up coming meeting with his agent later in the week, there isn’t anything of note.

            He nearly bumps into a woman while he’s staring at the screen, causing her to huff out an irritated remark that he’s only half meant to hear. He turns to apologize but she’s already speed walking away, and that’s when he notices.

            There’s a teenage girl staring at him, about twenty feet back.

            She jumps and looks down at her phone when he looks at her directly. It’s not a guilty look, though. Not the shame faced expression he’d expect from someone who was caught staring. Instead it’s like she’s trying to pretend she wasn’t staring, as though she hopes he hasn’t noticed.

            Shiro considers his options. He’s confident he could defend himself against her if she’s thinking of mugging him or something, though he really doubts that’s what this is. If he confronts her for following him, when he doesn’t actually know for sure that she’s done anything wrong, that can only end badly for him. A reputation of harassing young girls on the street is not something he’s looking to make. So he turns around, pretending he hadn’t noticed her, and starts walking again, listening carefully for her footsteps. If she follows him another block, he’ll call her out.

            She must be a fan. She’s certainly not a professional stalker, or whatever the people who harass public figures are called – he varies his stride as they go just to see what she’ll do and hears her stumble. Sighing, he braces himself for an uncomfortable conversation and the inevitable headache she’s going to cause him.

            They’re about three blocks from his building now. Shiro stops beside a deli, so the girl will have a safe place to go if she feels too intimidated by him, and turns around. There’s the same badly hidden jump and hide behind a phone. Shiro crosses his arms.

            “You’re following me.” She tries to pretend she doesn’t hear him. “You, with the braids. Yes, you.”

            Now she looks a little embarrassed, but not for the right reasons. “U-um, hi. I. I wasn’t going to do anything. I mean. I’m not like, a creep or something, I just wanted to talk to you. But I wanted to see where you were staying, too, because I think we live in the same city. Isn’t that cool?”

            He narrows his eyes. “No, it’s not cool. This is stalking.”

            Her eyes widen, looking frightened by the accusation. Then she frowns back at him. “I’m not stalking you!”

            “You followed me a few blocks to find out where I live. That’s stalking.”

            “I just want to know your address. How are people supposed to send you fanmail if we don’t know where to send it.”

            “That’s not okay. There’s a reason I keep that information private.”

            The girl scowls at him. In his periphery, Shiro can see a couple people who stepped out of the deli have paused to watch their conversation. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wills himself to be patient.

            “Listen. I’m flattered that you like my books, and that you want to share that with me. But if you just contacted the publishing house, they would give you the address my agent has set up for fanmail.”

            “That’s not _your_ address, though. How do I know you’ll get it?” The girl crosses her arms and practically pouts at him. She can’t be much older than 14. Shiro’s half tempted to ask where her parents are, but it’s not his goal to patronize the kid. He just needs her to understand why this isn’t okay.

            “Um, excuse me,” one of the women from the deli steps between them, facing Shiro. She sounds a bit embarrassed as she says, “I’m sorry, but… are you, Takashi Shirogane?”

            “He is!” the girl jumps in.

            “Oh, I know him!” another deli woman – the first woman’s friend – calls out. “He was on the morning show a little while ago. You have a new book out.”

            “ _Ephemeral_ ,” the girl says. She stands smugly before them, tilting her chin as though naming his book somehow makes her clever and cultured.

            All of this is getting out of hand. All he wanted was the right to walk home in peace.

            “Look,” he says, and immediately checks himself from how harshly it came out. The girl flinches from it and turns back to him with wide, startled eyes. “Look,” he tries again, much more gently. “What’s your name?”

            “Anna,” she squeaks.

            “Anna. Listen, Anna. I’m flattered that you like my books. But you can’t follow people home.”

            Anna does pout then. “I just wanted to send you things.”

            “You can send them the same way as everyone else.”

            “But—”

            He raises a hand to stop her. “Anna. Don’t follow me anymore. It makes me uncomfortable, and if I catch you doing it again, I’m going to have to call the police.”

            The two deli women look on with rapt attention, like this is some tv drama. Shiro grits his teeth and holds his resolve, even as the girl’s eyes start to brim with tears. Guilt tears at him, but this isn’t his fault. He’s not in the wrong, and someone had to tell her.

            Anna takes two steps back and shakes her head. “I thought you’d be _nice_ ,” she whines. Shiro doesn’t know how to respond to that.

            She loses whatever composure she had left, then, and starts to cry in shrill hiccups that slice at his heartstrings. Before he can think of anything he could do to fix this, she turns around and starts running back the way they came, pulling her phone up to her ear as she goes.

            His gut instinct is to follow, but he holds himself back. It would only make things worse, anyway. The deli women stare at him for a long, quiet moment before heading on their way, heads bent low and mumbling something he’s fairly certain is an unflattering remark.

            Shiro huffs out an aggravated breath and takes a moment to himself. Then he turns to finish his walk, but pauses. After a moment’s hesitation, he looks around himself, double checking that no one else is following him.

            The sensation of being watched stays sharp and electric against his neck the entire way home.

 

            It’s a few days later when he gets an unexpected call from his agent, Veronica. It’s just after his morning writing session, which means she’s only been in the office for about an hour. Shiro gives his phone a surprised little frown, but doesn’t think much of it as he swipes to answer.

            “Hey, Veronica.”

            “Have you checked your Goodreads lately?”

            Shiro frowns deeper and turns to his laptop. “No, why?”

            “Someone’s been leaving a whole string of awful reviews, and just general nasty comments about you on all of your books.”

            Shiro leans back against the kitchen counter. “So? I have a lot of readers now. I don’t expect everyone to like my work.” It’s not like Veronica to overreact like this. It makes him wonder if there’s something more than just bad reviews.

            “You don’t understand,” she says. “I’m not saying someone gave you a couple 1 star reviews. This person is going around to any post remotely related to you or your books and posting paragraphs about how you publicly humiliate your fans. I’m looking at one now that accuses you of cornering and intimidating a teenage girl.”

            Shiro’s stomach drops. “Fuck. That girl at the deli.”

            “You’re not saying you actually did scare the shit out of a teenager?”

            “No, no.” Shiro pushes off from the counter and hurries to his laptop to assess the damage himself. “There was this girl who followed me almost to my building a few days ago. I caught her and told her off for stalking me, but she got upset and ran off.”

            Veronica hums low, a thoughtful noise that doesn’t sound very positive. Shiro clicks through the site and pulls up _Ephemeral_ ’s page. “You haven’t seen her again, have you? You should get a restraining order if she keeps hanging around.”

            “No, I haven’t seen her since.” There’s a huge list of comments to shift through, but he only has to scroll through the most recent posts for about a minute before he finds one by a PalindromePaladin that’s significantly longer and more emphatic than the rest. Anna, it seems, is a fan of capslock. “I see what you mean here.”

            “You’re reading it?”

            “Yeah. Apparently I also hate women because I only write about gay men. Great. Is there anything we can do here? Or is it just freedom of speech?”

            He can hear the clatter of keys through the line as Veronica works on something. “I’m going to contact the site on your behalf and see if slander is means enough to remove the comments. I’m not sure how far that’ll get me, but it’s worth a shot.”

            Shiro can’t stop himself from skimming through the lengthy comment, even though he knows it’d probably be best if he just exited out of the window entirely. Every twist of the truth and blatant lie grinds a little harder against his nerves. The amount of likes this girl’s post has gotten makes him feel sick to his stomach.

            “How much of an affect do you think this is going to have? I mean, she is just one person on the internet, right? There are trolls everywhere.”

            “Well, normally I’d say it’s not even worth our time. But with your auction event coming up, bad press isn’t really something you want right now. The good new is, we’re close enough to the date that I think it’d be hard for her to gain much of a following with this nonsense, but I’d still like to get it sorted out quick. I called you to see if you had any idea who it was doing this, because if we know where it’s coming from we can better defend your reputation.”

            Shiro nods. “Alright, good to know. If it helps, she’s the only one I can think of who would have a grudge against me.” He catches himself skimming the post again and quickly exits out of the tab.

            “I’ll do what I can here. Good luck with the auction.”

            Veronica hangs up and leaves him to go back to making breakfast. He makes a noble effort to put Anna and her posts out of his mind, but with no one else around, the morning is quiet, and his mind is free to wander.

            It’s aggravating, that one girl and a pack of lies could burrow so easily under his skin. He’s an adult, not a high schooler, and he’s dealt with bad reviews and unfair criticisms before. This is the first time in a while though that anyone has attacked his character.

            By the time lunch rolls around, he’s already opened the site back up and snooped through her other posts. They’re each as ridiculous as the first one – and as popular. He reads a few comments from people who weren’t even there speculating all sorts of disturbing nonsense about him and his motives. The worst of it are the people claiming that because he hasn’t announced his relationship status, it’s proof that he’s actually straight and using the community to make himself famous.

            Feeling nauseous, Shiro shuts down his computer and picks up his phone.

            “Hey,” Keith answers on the fifth ring. He sounds a little breathless.

            “Hey. Am I interrupting you?”

            “No, it’s fine. I just had music on, and the phone was across the room.”

            He must have been painting, then. “Alright. I was wondering if I could come over?”

            “Now?” He sounds surprised, but not unwelcoming.

            Shiro sighs and closes the screen of his laptop. “Hopefully, yeah. I’m sort of having a bad day.”

            There’s a rustling as Keith shifts on the other end of the line. Once he’s settled he asks, “What’s going on?”

            Shiro spins his desk chair to face out to the room and slumps back. “It’s sort of a long story,” he starts.

            “I’ve got time.”

 

            Keith invites Shiro to come over whenever he wants, and they spend most of the afternoon in the comfort of each other’s company as they work on their respective pieces. Having Shiro around seems to make the painting process go faster, partly because they’re good about bouncing each other’s focus back to work when one of them gets distracted, and partly because Keith gets to order Shiro into poses to help him figure out his anatomy and shading as he goes. They keep the music playing at half volume to fill the silence between nudges to get back to work and Shiro’s occasional reading of his work out loud for Keith’s appraisal.

            It’s a good system, and they get a lot of work done by the time Shiro’s little phone timer bleeps a six o’clock alarm.

            “That’s enough for today,” he says. Keith hums and adds another highlight to Akira’s hair. He hears Shiro settle his laptop and shift on the couch, but he’s in a groove now. When the song on the radio ends, Shiro calls out to him again. “Keith. We should stop for today, and eat.”

            “How about I order pizza, and we can work until it gets here?”

            Keith keeps painting while Shiro considers his offer. It’s primarily a stalling tactic anyway, because he’s not at all surprised when Shiro says, “No go. If I leave it up to you, you’re going to keep working until ten.”

            He’s not wrong. Keith’s missed meals before in favor of his work. It’s just so hard to pull away when he’s in the middle of a creative sprint. Keith tries to keep going while Shiro gives him disapproving looks, but as he goes to put more paint on his brush, a hand presses against the small of his back.

            “Keith,” Shiro says lowly by his ear. Keith grins at the little jolt it sends down his spine. “Please?”

            “Alright, fine.” He sets the brush down and wipes his hands before turning in the tight space and settling them on Shiro’s shoulders. “But you’re buying the pizza, then.”

            Shiro gives easily into the kiss Keith plants on him to block any complaints, and that’s that.

 

            After dinner and a movie, Keith drags Shiro into a bath and then into bed without dressing. He gently pushes him down onto his stomach and sets to work massaging out any knots he can find in the wide expanse of Shiro’s beautifully toned back, shushing any of his protests that Keith is needlessly spoiling him.

            “You had a shitty day,” Keith says. His thumb finds a tense spot that makes Shiro grunt, so he sets to work on it. “Let me take care of you.”

            “It wasn’t so shitty after I came here,” Shiro mumbles into the pillow. Keith smiles and leans down to press a kiss to the base of his neck.

            Shiro’s back is a vast plain of muscle and warm skin. Keith slowly makes his way over every inch of skin, pressing soft kisses here or there as he slowly works his fingers through every tense spot he can find. Shiro lets him know how he’s doing with soft, low sounds, groaning and sighing every time Keith gets a knot to give way. It’s sensual, to be straddled across his hips and pulling such deep pleasures out of his body. Every rumbling satisfied sound Shiro makes travels straight to Keith’s groin, until the gentle brush of Shiro’s skin against his filling cock has him panting softly.

            Keith leans forward to kiss between Shiro’s shoulder blades, hands spread on either side of his ribs. He can’t quite stop himself from grinding forward at the tighter press of their bodies.

            “God, Keith,” Shiro sighs. He must be able to feel it. “Let me turn around?”

            The point is to spoil Shiro, and he’s already worked over most of his back. Keith trails a few more kisses down the length of Shiro’s spine before squeezing at his hips and sliding off to the side.

            Shiro turns and shifts to sit up, but Keith is quick to slide himself in his lap and hold him still with a gentle, deep kiss. Shiro acquiesces for the time being, opening his mouth obediently when Keith licks at the seal of his lips and following him back into Keith’s mouth when Keith doesn’t push forward himself. It takes a minute, but soon Shiro brings his hand up to cup the side of Keith’s face and bends him back a little to take more from the kiss, shifting into control.

            They part long enough to catch a breath and meet eyes before Shiro dips down and pulls Keith in again. Keith trails his nails lightly up through Shiro’s undercut the way he loves, and Shiro weaves his organic hand through Keith’s hair in response. One of them shifts, and then Shiro grunts and Keith groans into the kiss as their cocks brush against each other. Shiro tightens his grip in Keith’s hair.

            Keith gives a couple thrusts on autopilot before he forces himself to pull out of the kiss and hold still. Shiro seeks him out, mouth chasing his, and Keith lets him have another short kiss before pulling back again.

            “Keith?” Shiro mumbles, eyes searching.

            Keith slides his hands back down to Shiro’s shoulders. “Let me ride you,” he says lowly.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” Shiro breathes. Leans back into a kiss as natural as breathing. “God. You’re not ready, though.” Keith hums a halfhearted agreement that has Shiro squeezing his hip. “Let me?”

            Keith curls forward, trailing his hands down Shiro’s abs as he presses a few soft kisses up the line of Shiro’s jaw. “Whatever you want,” he promises against Shiro’s ear. Shiro shudders when he nips it.

            “Lay back, baby,” Shiro instructs even as he shifts to lay Keith out against the mattress.

            Keith catches his hand as he pulls it out of his hair and leans into it, pressing a slow kiss to Shiro’s palm. He smiles against it when he’s done, and stretches his hand out to keep contact for as long as he can while Shiro pulls back to get the lube he knows is in the nightstand drawer.

            The first press of Shiro’s finger against him is gentle but cold. Keith makes a surprised sound that Shiro quickly hushes with a soft kiss.

            “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, but he’s already slipping his way inside.

            Keith shifts his hips to a more comfortable position. It’s always a strange feeling, no matter how many times they do this. The firm press of a sudden intrusion, never enough of a stretch to hurt. Just a foreign sensation. To be honest it’s Keith’s least favorite part of the process.

            Shiro doesn’t linger, thankfully. He gives a few press and pulls, testing the give of Keith’s body, and as soon as Keith can take it he’s sliding in a second slick digit.

            That does stretch a little, and Keith grunts. Shiro looks up from where he’s been watching the steady slide of his fingers into Keith’s hole, but doesn’t stop.

            “I’m good,” Keith assures him. Testing, Shiro pulls his fingers apart ever so slightly, increasing the stretch. Keith’s breath hitches.

            “Yeah?” Shiro checks.

            “Yeah, yeah good.”

            It’s more, as Shiro starts to scissor his fingers inside him. More of a stretch and more of a burn, but it’s a good kind of intensity. Shiro’s fingers are bigger than his own, better at pulling him apart in a few quick movements. Once Keith’s body gives a little more, Shiro nudges his legs further apart and quickens the pace.

            When he crooks his fingers up against his prostate, Keith gasps out a moan.

            “That’s it,” Shiro rumbles. Keith sighs at the wave of pleasure it sends rolling down his spine. Shiro’s tone is low and appreciative, admiring. When Keith looks down he sees his eyes are dark, pupils blown as he watches the way Keith takes him in. “You want another one?”

            “Please.”

            This wasn’t supposed to be so much about him, but in someway taking care of Shiro means letting Shiro take care of him. Especially with the way Shiro groans, low in the back of his throat, as Keith clenches around his fingers right before they’re pulled out completely.

            With his legs splayed like this, Keith gets a good view of Shiro as he leans back to grab the lube again. The hard press of that metal hand against his hip is deeply missed in the time it takes Shiro to pour more lube out over his fingers, but then Keith traces the line of his abs with his eyes, down to where Shiro’s cock presses thick and solid against his belly, slick at the head with a bit of precum. He aches to feel it against him, inside him.

            “Hurry up,” Keith huffs with no real heat, uncomfortable with the ache of desire in his pelvis and nothing to do for it. Shiro leans forward and grips his hip again, squeezing and pressing an apologetic kiss to Keith’s eager lips.

            “I figured I’d warm it this time,” he says with a smile. Keith snorts and kicks playfully toward his ribs.

            “Just get back over here before I flip us.” That’s an empty threat if he’s ever made one, but Shiro takes him seriously.

            Keith sighs as the fingers come back one at a time. Shiro goes back to scissoring the first two just to be sure, and quiets Keith’s complaints with a few quick brushes to his prostate. Enough to drown his words in a few short, gasped moans, but not enough to be satisfying. The press of his third finger has Keith groaning long and breathlessly.

            Keith squeezes around the fingers instinctively, and Shiro echoes his groan back to him. He curls his fingers and picks the pace back up, pinning Keith’s hips to the bed with his other hand when Keith starts trying to rock back into it. Every press against his prostate punches a breathy moan out of him, until it’s a near constant thing. The pleasure licks white hot through his nerves, curling his toes and making his mind hazey. When his legs start to tremble he knows he can’t take much more.

            “Stop,” Keith gasps. Shiro stills immediately. “I’m gonna cum.”

            “What’s so wrong about that?” Shiro asks. He presses a tender kiss to one of Keith’s thighs, but otherwise doesn’t move.

            Keith smiles up at him and slowly uncurls his fingers from where they clutched the sheets. “Not yet. I told you, I wanna ride you.”

            He can see how hard that makes Shiro swallow. “You sure?” he husks. When Keith nods he slowly slides his fingers out. The slick sound it makes has heat flooding Keith’s face. Already he aches to be filled again.

            “Lay back,” he says. Shiro offers him a hand to pull him up first.

            Once he’s settled down where Keith wants him, Keith crawls up the bed and snags the lube. He throws one leg over Shiro as he pours a generous amount into his palm, then tosses the bottle back across the bed. Shiro’s breath hitches beautifully when Keith takes him in hand.

            “Let me do the rest.” Keith’s torn between watching the wet slide of his hand against Shiro’s cock and his boyfriend’s face as he stares up at Keith with rapture. The hunger in Shiro’s eyes is burning like a wildfire, and it’s just the extra push he needs to get this underway.

            Taking Shiro in hand, Keith shifts up and braces his other hand against his chest. Shiro’s hands come up automatically to grip Keith’s hips, but don’t guide him anywhere. Keith grins; it seems Shiro’s going to listen and let him do the work tonight.

            The blunt press of the head has Keith shivering in anticipation. Shiro’s grip tightens when he presses in, and Keith can feel the shift in his breathing under the hand he has on his chest. Slowly he lets himself sink down, his own breath pushed out of him the farther he goes. Shiro is thick and heavy, and even though it’s a good kind of burn to be stretched open around him, Keith still needs a moment to adjust once he’s finally taken him down to the base.

            “God, Keith,” Shiro murmurs. He’s gripping him tight enough to leave marks. Keith hopes he will.

            “Like what you see?” Keith tries to purr, but it comes out more breathless as the initial discomfort ebbs away. Shiro still groans in agreement.

            Keith lifts himself just an inch and lowers again, testing his comfort in a few short rolls before deciding he’s ready. He keeps it slow at first, letting them both feel the gradual way Shiro’s cock spreads him open as he comes back down. Works them up to the main event, pulling soft groans out of Shiro until he’s positive the older man is fully relaxed to it.

            Then he leans forward, letting Shiro slip nearly all the way out, and drops back hard. It wrenches a moan from both of them, Keith’s broken up in places as he starts moving in earnest, riding Shiro faster and faster until the sound of skin on skin echoes around them. Shiro presses bruises into his hips in the effort to keep from moving him around the way he wants to.

            “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” Shiro pants.

            “Only for you,” Keith breathes.

            He rocks faster until he’s bouncing on Shiro’s cock, coming down hard enough to knock the air out of himself every time. Shiro keeps groaning out praises and affection around mindless sounds of pleasure. Every few thrusts he starts to tug at Keith’s hips, only barely managing to stop himself from taking over control.

            “Am I – _ah_ – Am I going to have to tie your hands?” Keith’s laughter fades off into another moan. Shiro bites his lip.

            “Sorry, you’re just—”

            They get the angle just right then, and Keith arches, gasping in the wake of electric pleasure shooting through his body. “Fuck, fuck fuck, _yes,_ ” he hisses and aims for that spot again.

            He chases that feeling, practically sprinting for it with the way he speeds up to a pace he knows he can’t keep for very long. It’s fire in his veins, white hot and all consuming. It wipes his mind clean of anything except the sound of his own desperate voice as every motion rips groans from his throat.

            Shiro echoes every frantic sound with a low moan of his own, dropping his head back against the pillows and watching Keith through half lidded eyes that shine with arousal.

            “Fuck Keith,” he begs, “please, can I?”

            Keith slows and grinds, legs trembling. He can’t keep doing all the work on his own, anyway. And Shiro looks a little like he’s dying the sweetest death.

            “Okay,” Keith means to nod but falls forward against Shiro’s chest, shuddering. His dick is pressing right against his prostate, shooting fireworks through Keith’s nerves with every grind, and he just can’t stop. It’s too much and he needs more. “Yeah, fuck me Shiro.”

            Shiro gives him a beat to catch his breath before he lifts him up and slowly slides him back down, testing. Keith moans at how easy it is for him, how he makes it seem like Keith weighs _nothing_.

            “Ready?” Shiro checks.

            Keith nods so hard his hair whips into his face. “Yeah, yeah c’mon.”

            Another effortless lift, and then Keith’s pulled down hard, met in the middle by the snap of Shiro’s hips.

            “ _Fuuuck_ , I love you,” Keith groans. Shiro laughs loud and full, and brings them back up to their earlier pace.

            Without as much control, Keith’s left to just palm at Shiro’s chest, digging nails in when Shiro finds the right angle again and gets him begging not to stop. His throat is going to be raw after this, but god it’s so good he can’t be bothered to care. Keith slides his hands up and thumbs at Shiro’s nipples. The stutter it causes in Shiro’s thrust makes him shudder.

            “You like that?” he asks. It comes out as mostly air, but Shiro huffs out a heavy sigh anyway.

            “You’re gonna kill me.” The way he pounds up into Keith after that makes him think it’s the other way around.

            The more Keith rolls his nipples under his fingers, the rougher, more desperate Shiro gets, until both of them are shuddering toward their ends. Keith can tell by the broken gasps Shiro takes between moans that he’s on the edge, and Keith’s sounds have gotten so high it’s rubbing his throat raw.

            “ _Ah_ , Shiro I’m.” He chokes on another high sound and has to try again. “Fuck, gonna cum, gonna, _ah_ ,”

            “C’mon,” Shiro grits through his teeth. “Touch yourself, baby. Let me see it, I want to feel you.”

            Keith moans and leans heavily on one arm as he takes himself in the other hand. Grasping his shaft sets his entire body on fire, and all it takes is a few more thrusts and one brush of the thumb over his head before he’s thrown over the edge, shooting off thick ribbons of cum across Shiro’s chest. Shiro groans long and loud and drops his head back, pulling Keith down for two or three more thrusts before pinning their hips together and spilling into him. Keith shudders and groans at the feeling.

            They take a few minutes to lay together and pant, shivering as the cold of the apartment finally comes back to them now that the rushed heat of sex is fading away. Keith is the first one to move. He drags himself forward on shaking legs, just enough for Shiro to slide all the way out, and grunts, falling to the side.

            “Fuck,” he sighs. Shiro snickers. He’s always so adorably giggly in the afterglow. “That was good.”

            Shiro chuckles some more and flops a heavy arm over Keith’s stomach, effectively trapping him in the bed. “That was really good.” He has that huge dopey smile of his. The one Keith can never resist kissing.

            They lay together for a while, basking and lazily pressing half kisses to each other’s lips, and cheeks, and noses. It’s warm and soft, much calmer than the sex but still enough to make Keith’s heart race.

            “I love you,” he murmurs low and nuzzles into Shiro’s side. Shiro wraps his arm around him and kisses his forehead.

            “I love you too. More than all the universe.”

            “You’re a dork.”

            “Excuse you, that was extremely romantic.”

            Keith giggles then and kisses his shoulder. The skin is soft and still smells like the bath, under the heavy scent of sex in the air. “So much for getting clean.” Shiro shrugs against him.

            “Eh, who cares. We’ll wipe up with a washcloth.”

            Keith grunts, not entirely satisfied with that, but there’s no way in hell he’s getting up. By the time Shiro realizes it and makes for the bathroom, Keith’s already drifting off to sleep.

 

            When Shiro’s phone alarm buzzes on the nightstand, it’s far too early in the morning. Keith tightens his hold around his boyfriend’s chest even as Shiro shifts to turn the damn thing off. When he starts opening his email app, Keith huffs and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

            “Good morning,” Shiro hums. His voice rumbles in the way that Keith loves, but right now he’s too bitter about the early wake up call to feel any flutter of attraction.

            “Sun’s barely up,” he mutters into Shiro’s skin.

            “It’s 8:10.”

            “Gross.”

            Keith slowly starts to doze, pressing lazy kisses against Shiro’s neck while he sorts through his business obligations. Keith has a few commissions he needs to do himself, and a meeting with an author about the book jacket he’s going to design this week, but that’s not until _after_ noon. The few benefits of being freelance are that you get to set your own hours, and sometimes Keith wishes Shiro would take that freedom a little more to heart.

            After a few more drowsy moments, Shiro sighs and sets down his phone. He tightens the arm he has wrapped around Keith for a long hug. Keith frowns, because he knows what that means.

            “I have to get up.”

            Keith grunts into Shiro’s shoulder and tightens his hold on him.

            “I know, I know.” Shiro presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head and slowly runs a hand through his hair, soothing. “I’d love to stay in bed with you all day.”

            “Then do it.”

            “Veronica will have my head on a stick if I don’t go.”

            Keith sulks, grouchy at being up so early and having to give up his favorite human pillow. But he knows he can’t win against the book tours and the publishers, nor does he want to. He just wishes the meetings weren’t so _early_.

            Shiro presses another kiss to his temple before pulling back. Reluctantly, Keith lets him free and drags himself up to sit as well.

            All things considered, watching Shiro’s naked ass as he moves across the room to find his clothes isn’t the worst sight to wake up to. If he has to be up before ten he might as well enjoy it, right? When Shiro drags his boxers on, Keith turns and snags a hair elastic off the nightstand, dragging his disastrous bedhead into a halfhearted ponytail.

            “When’s the meeting?” he asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He has to clear his throat from the way the morning air rumbles through him.

            “Nine,” Shiro says. He’s already picking his shirt off the ground.

            Keith sighs, stretches, and drags his own naked ass out of bed and toward the dresser.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I’m gonna walk you out.”

            He catches Shiro’s smile in the dresser mirror as he carefully tugs open his underwear drawer. He has to make sure Shiro doesn’t catch sight of the little box Keith has tucked away in the back corner. It’s not time yet.

            Once he’s securely slid the drawer shut again and thrown on enough clothes to be presentable – sweats and another oversized shirt he probably swiped from Shiro – Keith straightens up and looks to Shiro, who offers his hand.

            “Shall we?”

            “You got everything?”

            Shiro lifts the leather bag he carries his laptop in as proof. Keith nods and weaves his fingers with Shiro’s, snagging his keys off the counter as they set out.

            It’s a short walk to the front door of the building, but Keith just wants to stay in Shiro’s space for as long as he can. With the book release, the PR work, and the upcoming auction, it feels like they’re always a little too busy to be together. Which is stupid, because they still see each other at least once a week, but something about Shiro has dragged Keith into his orbit, like a comet trailing Earth. Drawn in by magnetic force and unable to stay away.

            Shiro must have noticed, because halfway down the stairwell he says, “I promise we’ll spend more time together soon.”

            Keith squeezes his hand and leans against him when he squeezes back. “Sounds good to me. I miss you.”

            Another kiss to his temple before they push open the door to the lobby. “I miss you too.”

            On the front step outside the heavy doors Keith tugs Shiro back before he pulls away.

            “Get home safe, yeah?” he mumbles, cupping Shiro’s face. His thumb brushes the tail end of that long scar across the bridge of his nose.

            “I will,” Shiro murmurs. His free hand wraps around the small of Keith’s back as he goes up for the kiss.

            It’s soft and tender, but cut far too short when Shiro jerks back. He drops Keith’s waist like it burned him and whirls around, staring off down the street. Keith tenses and casts around to see whatever it is he sees.

            There’s just a normal sidewalk, the same steady traffic and morning commute flow of people. Nothing strikes him as a threat.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “I thought… There was a flash…”

            There’s a metal lamppost not too far from the building that could have reflected the light toward them, but that’s all Keith can think of. “I didn’t see anything.” Turning to Shiro, he’s caught off guard by how suddenly exhausted he looks.

            “…Sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand against the short hairs of his undercut. “I’m getting paranoid, I guess.”

            “You sure you’re going to be alright?”

            Shiro nods and musters up a smile that looks genuine enough, if somewhat wary. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’ll be better after the auction, probably, once things have time to cool down.”

            Keith nods. “And we’ll tell people.”

            Shiro gives him a surprised look. Keith shifts under his gaze, awkwardly darting his eyes back to the lamppost for a second. “I know I’m not the most enthusiastic about it, but you’re right that we should come out. It’s better than sneaking around.”

            He looks back to see Shiro nodding slowly. “So long as you’re really okay with it.”

            “I am.” Keith tilts his chin to prove it. Shiro nods again.

            “Okay. January, then.”

            “Yeah.”

            His phone buzzes again in his pocket, and he winces when he catches sight of the time on the home screen. “I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.”

            “Get out of here then.” Keith feigns pushing him off the steps. Shiro laughs.

            “I’m going, I’m going. I’ll see you later.”

            “I’ll be here.”

            He stays out on the step for a few minutes, just to watch Shiro head on his way. The morning air is freezing, but it does its job of waking him up, at least. And as far as Keith can tell, when Shiro rounds the corner and disappears from sight, no one is following him.

 

            By the end of the week, Shiro’s finished the draft for his second story. There’s still a week left for editing, but there’s a great relief that comes with mostly finishing these major products, especially when they’ll be going to a great cause.

            He forwards the manuscript to Keith, who texts him back and suggests they go out for dinner as celebration.

            [nothing too fancy just like Olive Garden or smth]

            [Sounds good to me. 7?]

            [ill pick u up]

            Standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, Shiro can’t shake the anxious feeling that’s wormed its way into his stomach. Ever since he left Keith’s on the day of his book tour meeting, he’s been haunted by the sense that something is about to go terribly wrong. He _knows_ it’s because of that phantom flash, but even though nothing’s come of it he can’t quite put it out of his mind or chalk it up to imagination and early morning sleepiness.

            It’s hard to relax when you feel like you’re being watched whenever you go out.

            The buzzer goes off to let him know Keith’s in the lobby, drawing him out of his thoughts. He gives himself a hard look in the mirror, resolving not to let his anxiety ruin the evening. It’s been a while since the two of them had a real date together. Not that spending evenings in with takeout and a movie isn’t fun, but sometimes something a little less casual can make the relationship feel that much more important.

            Keith’s dressed casually, standing waiting by the doors with his arms crossed. His idea of date attire is a leather jacket and some dark jeans, but damn if he doesn’t look good in it. Shiro’s eyes linger for a few seconds too long, and Keith smirks at him, mumbling, “Got something to say?” when Shiro comes to a stop beside him.

            “Can’t I just admire?”

            “Is that what we’re calling it?”

            Shiro laughs and follows Keith out onto the street.

 

            The restaurant is fairly crowded, with families and friends flocking to the warmth of a public hearth to celebrate each other and hide from the winter’s chill. Shiro’s always loved the end of the year and the way it brings people together. The celebration of life and another year well spent, or finally laid to rest. Keith smiles at him as they wait to be seated, hand in hand and slowly warming from the heat of each other and the smell of hot meals.

            They’re brought to a corner booth tucked around the bend of a divider wall, far enough from the door to feel a little more personal and intimate. Shiro peeks at Keith over his menu and grins. The dim lighting over the table casts shadows that perfectly highlight the sharp angles of his face, emphasizing his handsome features. Keith tugs his lip between his teeth in a mindless reading habit.

            They’ve been together for years now, but little things like this still make Shiro’s heart flutter in his chest.

            The girls at the table across from theirs break out in a fit of giggles, drawing his attention, but at that moment the waitress arrives to take their orders.

            Once she leaves, Shiro settles his arms on the table and leans forward. “So, what did you think of the story?”

            Keith plays with his straw wrapper as he speaks, folding it several times over itself. “That’s not what I thought you meant when you said you’d make me a dragon.” It’s not a complaint. Shiro grins.

            “A dragon prince is still a dragon.”

            “It’s basically every middle school girl’s love interest OC.”

            Shiro laughs. “It is not. He’s different.”

            “You just don’t want to admit you have a thing for hot monsters.” Keith runs out of paper to fold, so he sets about unfolding. He’s focusing just a little too hard on the wrapper to be genuine. Shiro knows he’s got something witty at the tip of his tongue, waiting for the perfect moment to lash out.

            “You’re the one who wanted to be a dragon. I’m just following orders.”

            Keith lifts his head, smirk practically glinting in the low light of the overhead lamp. Before he can get out whatever snarky line he’s been working on, though, the girls across the way start giggling again.

            It isn’t normal for Shiro to be distracted by other patrons when they’re out together, but there’s something in the sound of it, or the timing of it. Something that trips warning bells in his head, brushing against the same sixth sense that warns a person when someone else is whispering about them. Keith must feel it too, because they both cast glances to the other table and then back to one another.

            They’re quiet for a moment, the rhythm of natural conversation officially thrown off course.

            “Anyway,” Shiro says to try and bring it back. Keith takes a sip of his drink, but there isn’t any follow up. Another beat passes.

            “Landlord finally fixed the heat,” Keith says.

            “That’s good. Now you can give back my sweatshirts.” He grins, and Keith flashes it right back at him.

            “Not a chance.”

            “Punk.”

            “I can’t use the cold excuse to make you come over anymore. I have to have _something_ to lure you back to my place.”

            More giggles. Shiro grits his teeth.

            “What’s so funny,” Keith mutters under his breath, staring across the way. Shiro doesn’t turn to look, but tries to watch from the corner of his eye. There’s something guilty about the way the girls have their heads ducked together. Like children caught swiping cookies in the kitchen.

            “They’re listening in on us,” Shiro realizes. Keith jerks back to face him.

            “Seriously?”

            “I think so.” That or he’s being paranoid again.

            The thought seems to cross Keith’s mind, too. He eyes Shiro carefully for a long moment, interrupted only when the waitress comes back with their meals. Someone else is seated in the booth directly behind them.

            “Should we do something?” Keith asks lowly, leaning closer to avoid being heard.

            Shiro remembers Anna and grimaces. “I don’t want to start a scene. If they’re going to be immature, that’s on them.”

            Keith makes a face but lets it go.

            They eat quietly for a bit before Shiro tries to push conversation again. “Have you figured out your plans for the charity gala?” The Castle of Lions organization rented out a fancy ballroom for a special New Year’s masquerade after the auction, selling tickets to fans of the various artists in attendance.

            “I don’t know. I figure it can’t be like a Halloween costume, but I have no idea how dressing up works if it’s not like Halloween.”

            Shiro shrugs. “I guess it’s kind of like Marti Gras. You could just wear a mask and a tux.”

            “Add a top hat and I’ll be a Sailor Moon character.” Keith snorts. “I don’t get the point of the disguise thing anyway.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean,” he gestures with his fork, “if the point is for no one to know who we are, why would fans want to come? What’s the point of being at a party with your favorite writer if you don’t know he’s there?”

            “Well there’s the unmasking at midnight. I think it’s more about the suspense.”

            “I guess,” Keith says. He doesn’t look all that convinced as he spears his chicken, eyes drifting over Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro watches the pinch of his brow deepening in thought slowly, his mouth stretching low to match.

            “If it bothers you that much,” Shiro starts, but it jolts Keith out of his thoughts so roughly that he drops off in surprise. Keith blinks a few times, and though the frown leaves his face, the pinch of his brows doesn’t fully fade.

            “Sorry, I…” His eyes drift again over Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro turns to look too, wondering if maybe Keith was staring _at_ something, and not off into space, but he throws up a hand to stop him. Leaning forward and dropping his voice low, he murmurs, “I thought the guy behind you was staring at us.”

            An anxious heat trickles its way down Shiro’s spine into his stomach. Suddenly their booth feels less like an intimate, secluded space, and more like a claustrophobic trap.

            “God damn it,” he mutters, scowling in frustration. “Can’t we just have a nice date.”

            “We could try to ignore them,” Keith says, but the look on his face says he doesn’t have much faith in that idea. “They haven’t done anything yet.”

            “Yet.”

            The silence that hovers as they weigh their options is heavy with bitter aggravation. _This_ is exactly the kind of attention they wanted to avoid, exactly the scenario Shiro was afraid they’d face. People spying on them because they think there’s something scandalizing to see.

            “Maybe we should leave,” he says.

            “How do we slip past them?”

            “Slip? I was just going to walk out.”

            “If we do that they might try to follow us out,” Keith mutters.

            “Fuck.”

            Shiro runs a hand through his hair, tugging as he tries to think of options. If they confront whoever is behind them, it’ll start a scene. If they do nothing, the other person will start something later, either as they leave or on the way home, or even on the internet tomorrow. There’s no winning without some added circumstance.

            Keith straightens up, arms crossed on the table and head lifted high, eyes scanning across the room. Alert, calculating. Shiro can’t help thinking of the spy he made him out to be in the first auction piece, taking in the threatening scenario and calculating risks. For the moment, imagining it as a suspenseful scene from his story makes it a little less frustrating, a little more playful. It’s not the best situation to be in, but they’re in it together. That’s what matters.

            Some of the tension eases out of him. Shiro shifts in his seat, straightening up and mirroring Keith’s posture to take his own look around the room. The girls across the way are still glancing over now and then, but with little conversation to be overheard they’ve mostly grown distracted from their spying. They’re probably fans, with the way they were acting. Readers who by in to the hype the morning shows keep trying to stir up about his relationship. It’s a mostly harmless over-interest in his private life, a crossing of boundaries that comes from a place of curiosity. Aggravating and annoying, but not malicious.

            It wouldn’t be hard to ask them for help, he realizes. Enlist them as some kind of distraction for the more questionable person behind him. But the level of explanation it would take would tip him off, and worse, if it turns out he’s some kind of paparazzo, Shiro getting up to suddenly talk to a group of strangers would be very easy for him to spin into something dramatic. And then what would Shiro say to dispel the rumors that started?

            “He’s going to have to order food,” Keith mutters. It takes a moment for Shiro to catch his drift.

            “You think we should ask the waitress to distract him?”

            Keith turns to him, eyes bright with a mild surprise. “I was just going to say we could slip by when he does, but that’s smart. You think she’d do it?”

            Shiro shrugs. “She might if we ask. We could explain he’s following us.”

            Slowly, Keith nods. “Better give her a good tip, if we’re roping her in.”

            “She’s going to drop off the check before she takes his order, so we can catch her then.” He checks his wallet. “I have enough cash to pay the bill, so we can hand it all to her then and just leave while she’s talking to him.”

            “Alright, let’s do that.”

            They wait, but it’s busy here and staff seems low tonight. Their waitress is tending to most of this section of the restaurant, which means she’s got a lot to do. Shiro pulls out his phone to check the time, drums his fingers on the table, and gives in to the little twitter notification at the top of his screen. His most recent mention is from twenty minutes ago.

            “Fuck,” he mutters. Keith turns to him, and Shiro passes the phone, showing him the tweet that one of the girls across the way must have sent out.

            [Calling all fangirls! @TkashiShirogane is at the Olive Garden on Atlas Ave!]

            “Fuck,” Keith hisses, turning immediately to glare at the table of girls. Shiro jumps forward to grab him by the arm, recognizing the warning signs of a fight in the grit of his teeth and the fire of his eyes.

            “ _Don’t_ ,” Shiro grunts, tugging him back. “We can’t make a scene.”

            “Make a _scene_?” Keith growls, dropping his voice low to match Shiro’s. “That’s a serious invasion of privacy. That’s gotta be illegal, right?” He gives him an almost imploring look, like he wants Shiro to decide for himself what the law is. All Shiro can offer him is a shake of the head.

            “It might be, I don’t know. But we don’t have proof it was them, and we can’t just jump at people we think are in the wrong, Keith.” Shiro lets go of him once he seems settled, drawing his hand back to rest halfway between them while Keith slumps in his seat and glowers at him, crossing his arms. Over his shoulder, Shiro catches sight of the waitress carrying several plates of food.

            “Alright, here she comes,” he mumbles. “When she gets to us, we’ll just pay her and ask her to talk to the other guy, and head to the front to see if there’s really a crowd of fans looking for me.”

            Keith arcs a brow at him. “And if there are?” Behind him the waitress starts handing out food to a family of five.

            Shiro shrugs, gesturing vaguely. “If there are, we’ll figure something else out.”

            “That’s not much of a plan,” Keith huffs.

            “Yeah, well, it’s the best I’ve got.”

            They tell the waitress that the man behind them is an ex they want to avoid, and she wholeheartedly promises to keep him busy so they can make their escape. Shiro makes sure to give her a hefty tip for the kindness.

            As soon as she leans over to greet the paparazzo they slide from the booth, Shiro leaving ahead of Keith and putting some distance between them to minimize the chances of gossip. It’s not much, but he’s going to take whatever he can get at this point.

            It’s a short walk around the divider wall to the front desk waiting area, but as soon as Shiro rounds that corner he stops dead in his tracks. He can see from here the crowd of people outside, twenty or thirty at least, some of which have cameras and others brandishing signs of some sort. At least one of them bears a well printed image of his face.

            “Are they there?” Keith asks as he comes up to him. Shiro lets the view speak for itself. “Shit, what now?”

            Glancing around, Shiro wonders if the staff would let them use a back entrance. There must be some door that connects out to the alley and the dumpsters, after all. His eyes fall on the sign for the restrooms just as the sound of the glass doors being pushed open carries across the room, and a young woman’s voice calls out, “I see him!”

            “ _Shiro_.” Keith grabs his arm and starts dragging him across the room away from the doors. Shiro takes a beat to get his feet moving under him, and then they’re half jogging around crowded tables with the sound of several pairs of feet clambering after them. The noisy restaurant becomes twice as loud with the raucous calls of fans and paparazzi alike shouting out after him and directing each other.

            “Over there!”

            “Shiro, Mr. Shiro!”

            “Can you tell us who you’re with?”

            “Is this your mystery woman?”

            Squeezing past surprised servers, Shiro ducks into the little alcove that the restroom signs point to and pulls Keith along with him.

            “Come on, in here,” he says as he tugs Keith into the men’s room. Keith falls back against the door once they’re inside, as though the crowd is going to try to break down the bathroom door. After a moment’s thought, Shiro realizes that’s not as unlikely as it really should be.

            “Woman?” Keith huffs.

            Shiro gestures around his face. “Must be the hair. They didn’t get a good look at you from behind.”

            “Men can have long hair too,” Keith grunts. Shiro shrugs and turns to the stalls, wondering if they’ve just trapped some poor bystander in here with them.

            They’re empty, but other than a few moments of peace and privacy, he’s not sure what hiding in here has really earned them.

            “What do we do?” Keith asks. Shiro leans against the sink counter and tries to think.

            “We can’t go out there. If we do we’ll get mobbed – it’ll be a nightmare. We can try to just wait them out,” he muses, lifting his head to look his own reflection in the eyes, “but I don’t know that we’ll be…”

            He catches glimpse of the window in his periphery and turns.

            It’s small, but not so small that they couldn’t use it. Getting the first leg up might take a boost, but overall it’s not too high to be unfeasible. It’s a crazy, stupid idea, of course, to sneak out of the bathroom window to escape the paparazzi – this isn’t a movie and they aren’t romcom protagonists fleeing from a shitty blind date. It might even be illegal, somehow, though he can’t really figure out how exactly that law would be worded.

            Someone bangs on the door. Keith shoves himself back against it.

            “Shiro?”

            It’s a crazy, stupid idea, but not an impossible one.

            “Hold that door closed,” Shiro orders. Keith nods, not that he was going anywhere anyway. Crossing the room, Shiro carefully turns over the tall, rectangular trashcan and uses it as a footstool so he can force the window all the way up.

            The noise outside the door grows as people start calling for him and Keith to come out, and Keith fires back a “Fuck off!” as though that will chase them away. Shiro lifts a foot up just to make sure he can get up to the sill, and yes, with the trashcan down he has just enough lift to drag himself through when he’s ready.

            He jumps down and turns back to Keith, scanning the door.

            “There’s no way we can keep that shut when you move away.” Through the door he can hear some of the employees telling off the crowd, trying to shoo them away from the restrooms, but it doesn’t seem to be working. “Any ideas?”

            Keith’s features tighten with intense thought while he tries to hold the door. Shiro comes up beside him to help, and he can feel now that more than one person must be shoving on the other side. Keith tilts his head, looking up along the top seam of the door.

            “Give me your belt,” he says after a moment.

            “What?”

            “Your belt.” He nods toward the hinge, like that makes sense. He looks sure enough, though, and the pressure against the door is only growing. Shiro drops his hands to his waist and runs them across the leather.

            “What are you going to do?”

            “If we can clamp that hinge thing, the door won’t open.” Keith grunts and shoves himself back against the door hard. There’s a clatter as someone is knocked back by it, and then an echoing thump as another takes their place. The door gives a centimeter and then loudly clacks back shut.

            Shiro unloops his belt and hands it over, watching as Keith wastes no time knocking over the other trashcan and climbing up to weave it around the triangular metal hinge. It’s harder to hold the door back without Keith’s help, but it only takes him a minute to pull the leather taught and clasp the buckle. Then he jumps down and gives Shiro a nod, and they rush to the window.

            “You first,” Shiro says, pushing Keith in front of him before he can protest. Keith never wanted to be part of this nonsense, so the least he can do is get him out first.

            The shouting gets louder as the people on the other side shove at the door, the belt buckle clanging against the metal hinge with every push. The door slams back shut over and over in a repetitive clattering beat, but as Keith starts slipping his lower half out the window the time between the beats starts to get longer.

            Keith’s barely out the window before Shiro’s hauling himself up after him. The belt slips another inch, giving the door enough leeway for someone to shove an arm through. Shiro turns around to slide backwards out the window, and watches as they wedge themselves between the frame and use it for leverage. Shiro’s legs dangle out the window. The buckle on the belt pops open. The door is thrown wide.

            Shiro shoves himself back, scraping his stomach on the window frame, and hits the ground running.

 

            They make it back to his apartment in one piece, somehow, but not all the danger has passed. A few days later his name starts trending on Twitter, as floods of notifications start blowing up his phone. Shiro steps out of a morning shower to the near constant vibration of his phone and feels his stomach drop.

            He plants himself heavy on his bed and swipes through, dressed in loose sweatpants and nothing else, damp towel draped over his shoulders. He pushes back the white strands of hair that stick to his forehead with his freehand and scrolls endlessly, skimming through the uproar of messages to and about him. Fans and critics are arguing back and forth about whether or not _something_ is credible, but it takes him a good ten minutes to find the article that’s set them all off.

            Finally he finds someone’s retweeted link. “ROMANCE KING TAKASHI SHIROGANE TWO-TIMING PARAMOURS!” Seven words in and he already feels ill.

            The article is hardly worth reading, but he does it anyway, drawn in by the same masochistic, morbid curiosity that got him with the Goodreads reviews. Every line is one blatant lie after another as the tabloid writer jumps through a wild range of hoops to destroy his character. The springs of his mattress groan from the force he grips the edge of the bed with when the article insists he’s only writing queer lit for the profit. As though it’s easy to get this sort of thing published. As though he hasn’t been pushing for _years_ to get a recognized publishing house to pick up one of his manuscripts. And all of that is just in the introduction.

            Shiro forces himself to take a few deep breaths and center himself. It’s a bullshit article. No one who knows him would believe this garbage, and only gullible readers would fall for it. Which, apparently, is a lot of the community, but okay. He can still fix this. Veronica will know what to do, surely – she could set up a press conference or an interview or some other PR thing and give him the chance to clear his name. Thinking it through like this helps ease off some of the initial outrage, and Shiro slowly unclenches his jaw. They can fix this. It’s going to be alright.

            But in order to fight back, he has to know what he’s up against. He takes a deep breath and goes back to reading.

            It’s obvious by the end of the second paragraph that whomever wrote this was at the restaurant. The first picture on the page is a blurry shot taken from behind as him and Keith make their break for the men’s room. Shiro’s head is turned and his mouth open like he’s yelling something to Keith, which makes him easily identifiable. The only good thing about the picture is that Keith is still turned away, making him nothing more than a mess of black hair. Impossible to identify. The article even refers to him with feminine pronouns, much like the mistaken crowd at the restaurant. At least no one who didn’t know they were together will be able to pick Keith out of a crowd.

            But as Shiro reads on his anger quickly shifts to confusion. The author keeps referencing a second lover, heavily implying that the restaurant date was some kind of covert affair he was trying to hide from his true significant other. It doesn’t make any sense to try and paint him as a cheater when there’s been plenty of hype about his mystery partner already. Why not just write an article about him and Keith jumping out the Olive Garden men’s room window? Isn’t that embarrassing enough?

            Sure enough, the article is broken up in the middle with a picture of Shiro’s upper half hanging out the window. He cringes and quickly scrolls past. Admittedly that wasn’t the best decision on their part. He should probably give some sort of public apology to the restaurant. Maybe pay some kind of fine. Would this be considered disturbing the peace? If that’s the case, the mob should be charged, too.

            Shiro reads through the rest, but it’s not much more than inflammatory language and a lot of speculation. Eventually they start to go into detail about his supposedly unwitting partner – Keith is his ‘side woman’ apparently – who’s apartment he was seen leaving earlier this month.

            There’s a picture at the bottom of the page. A profile shot of him standing on the front step outside Keith’s building, leaning in for a goodbye kiss. Most of Keith’s hair is pulled up out of his face, making him much more recognizable. Ice shoots down Shiro’s spine.

            He knows when this was taken. The morning after the Goodreads reviews, after he stayed the night with Keith. The morning he left for his book tour meeting. When he thought he’d seen a flash.

            “I knew it,” he breathes. “I fucking knew it!”

            He wasn’t imagining things. Someone really was following him that morning, and snapped a picture of them. They know where he lives, know where _Keith_ lives. They could be watching either apartment right now.

            Instantly Shiro feels the urge to rush over to Keith’s apartment, but that’s a terrible idea. If Keith isn’t being watched, he’d only be leading paparazzi straight to him. It’d open the door for a hundred more of these terrible articles.

            Slumping forward, elbows on his knees, he saves the article to send to Veronica and Keith. Keith needs to be told about this as soon as possible. Flipping to his home screen to check the time, Shiro frowns. It’s not quite ten, probably too early for Keith to be up. He doesn’t exactly want to wake Keith up to bad news, but…

            It takes him a minute and a half to decide that Keith would want to know as soon as Shiro knew. He drags the towel off his shoulders and tosses it to the floor, shifting to lay across the bed before pulling up Keith’s contact info and hitting the call button.

            It rings for quite a while before waking him. When Keith’s voice does come through, it’s gruff and caught somewhere between confused and irritated.

            “Hey. I’m sorry I woke you.” Keith gives him a grunt and nothing more. Shiro picks a spot on the ceiling and locks his eyes to it. “I have some bad news.”

            There’s a rustle as Keith shifts in the bed. Shiro’s struck suddenly with the image of him rubbing at his eyes, hair a tangled, cowlicky mess and his chest bare. The longing that sweeps over Shiro is only made worse knowing what he’s going to say.

            “What’s up?” Keith sighs after clearing some of the sleep from his throat.

            Shiro traces an imaginary pattern across his sheets. He wants to ease into it, but he knows Keith’s more direct than that. “There’s been an article about us.”

            “Because of Olive Garden?”

            “That’s most of it, yeah.”

            Shiro half expects a heavy pause, but Keith is quick to the chase. “What’s the rest, then?”

            “There were pictures, not just from the restaurant.” Shiro gives up on the ceiling and rolls onto his side, half buried in a pillow. “Do you remember the last time I was over?”

            There’s the pause. A few beats pass before Keith slowly, warily says, “Yeah…?” There’s tension in the way he says it.

            “The morning after,” Shiro starts. There’s a quiet, relieved, “Oh,” from Keith that makes Shiro belatedly realize how he’d made that sound. “No, no, they snapped a picture outside the building. Not…” Not while they were having sex. God, the scandal _that_ would cause.

            “So the secret’s out then,” Keith says.

            “Yes and no. They paint you as two different people.”

            “What?”

            It takes a few minutes to explain the bizarre logic of the article. Keith interrupts a few times to comment on how bullshit it all is, which is validating, but doesn’t get them anywhere in the long run. By the time Shiro finishes summarizing the stupid tabloid, they’re both irritated.

            “They’re just making shit up. What do we do, can we make them stop? Not really, right?”

            Shiro sighs. “I don’t know. I’m going to ask Veronica and see what she can do, but for the most part I think it’s just freedom of speech.” He can’t help but sympathize with Keith’s aggravated growl. “My bigger concern though is that they know where we live.”

            Keith clicks his tongue. “So they’re stalking us. That’s definitely illegal. Let’s get a restraining order or something.”

            Shiro shifts to sit back up and slides to the edge of the bed again. “You have to know who’s stalking you for that. We don’t even know how many people this is. For now I think we should just avoid going out if we can. Until Veronica gets back to me.”

            “We can’t live like this, Shiro,” Keith says lowly. Shiro nods, slumping forward.

            “I know. But without a game plan, there isn’t much we can do.”

            They’re quiet for a long moment. Shiro listens to the sound of Keith’s breathing, sensing he’s working on something to say but hasn’t quite finished the thought yet. It is a lot to process first thing in the morning. Hell, Shiro isn’t even fully dressed yet.

            Eventually there’s another shifting sound, and then Keith saying, “The auction is this week.”

            “Shit, you’re right.” Three days from now. Shiro curls a fist across his thighs and stares down at it. “I didn’t think about that, but yeah.”

            “Is this going to fuck with things?”

            “It’s a bit too late to pull out now. I guess we could try and clear things up with the press after the auction? There’s supposed to be other events leading up to the gala.” He shifts, forcing himself to sit up straight and pushing the hair back out of his eyes. That plan might end up biting them in the ass, though; it’s a _charity_ event, not a personal press conference.

            “I don’t want to make it all about us,” Keith agrees.

            “Me neither,” Shiro promises. He pushes himself up off the bed and stoops to grab the towel, deciding he’s done enough wallowing for now. “But we have to do something. If we just sit around, it’ll only get worse.”

            “We should just tell people we’re together. We were going to anyway.”

            “Yeah, but timing matters.” It’s half past ten by now, which means Veronica is definitely in the office. She’s probably seen the news already. Part of Shiro hopes she’s come up with a plan. “I’ll see what I can do and let you know, alright? For now just, stay home if you can.”

            “More time to finish this painting, I guess,” Keith sighs.

            “Good luck. I love you.”

            “Yeah, love you too.”

            The apartment feels bigger and more foreboding, somehow, in the silence that follows the click at the end of the call. Shiro takes a moment of just standing in the middle of his room half dressed. It’s still processing, still sinking in. The weight this could have on his career is still nebulous. It feels like a big deal, a reputation ruiner. But he’s definitely seen worse scandals from more popular people before, so maybe it’s not as bad as it looks?

            Veronica would know. It’s her job to deal with these things. She’s probably been trained for this exact scenario. Shiro takes some solace in that and finishes his morning routine, getting dressed and making brunch before he lets himself open his phone again. By the time the smell of fresh coffee and bacon is circulating his dining area, he feels a little more grounded.

            After the dishes are washed he settles in his office chair and finally calls her up. It’s surprising, honestly, that she didn’t call first, but then she does have other clients. Maybe she’s hoping things will calm down into something more manageable on their own.

            “I take it you know,” she answers by way of greeting. Shiro’s caught off guard enough by it to straighten up in his seat.

            “I uh, yeah. I found the article this morning.” Veronica hums in agreement and types something at her computer. The rapid clacking of keys gives Shiro a little more hope. “You sound busy, so I guess you’re working on it?”

            “Yup. I’m trying to get a press team at the autograph sessions after the auction.”

            Shiro lets a breath go and smiles. That’s enough of the makings of a plan to soothe the anxiety churning in his stomach. “So if we just set the record straight, that’ll sort it out?”

            “Well…”

            There’s an implied _yes and no_ to the way she drags the word out. Shiro waits for the bad news, but Veronica holds back, still typing away.

            “What is it?”

            “I mean, yeah, telling your side of things will help. I’m guessing you’re not cheating on anyone.”

            He shakes his head immediately. “All of those pictures are Keith. The ‘other woman’ thing is nonsense.” He can’t help curling a fist against the edge of the desk at the nerve of those writers, spreading that kind of bullshit. It’s infuriating.

            “Right. So, you can tell people you’re only seeing Keith, but that might just look like a coverup.”

            Shiro frowns. “If I don’t say anything, they just get away with this. So what you’re saying is we can’t win.”

            “I’m saying we can redirect the hype.”

            Something about the way she says it doesn’t sit right with him. “What do you mean?”

            “Right now, people are clicking that article because they’ve been dying to know about your love life. Saying you’re dating two different people gives them a double serving for that curiosity. You can stand up there and tell them that you only have Keith, but it’s not new or exciting. People want to believe whatever sounds the most interesting.”

             There’s movement in the window as a flurry picks up outside, sprinkling soft snowflakes over the city. Shiro crosses his arm over the desk and leans forward to watch the steady drift of the snow as it falls past his apartment. It’s all well and good to say people will believe exciting news, but what does she expect him to do? He’s not going to start a new scandal just to cover up the old one.

            “The truth is simple. I’m in love with one man and we didn’t want to be public about it.”

            “You can’t _say_ that, Shiro.” Her tone tells him she’s shaking her head at her desk. “You have to outdo the two-timer hype.”

            “Well I can’t do that without making something up,” he snaps.

            Immediately he feels guilty for it. She’s just trying to do her job and help him sort this mess – a mess he created, with the ridiculousness in the men’s room. Yelling at her isn’t fair.

            “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I’m just frustrated.”

            “I get it,” she says quietly. Shiro grimaces. “I’m not telling you to lie, for the record. Just sensationalize. You’ve talked to me before about Keith and how much of an influence he has on your work. That’s honestly one of the most romantic things I’ve heard in a while – use it.”

            Shiro tries to imagine himself gushing in front of a crowd about how much he loves Keith. It’s cringey at best, and he knows for a fact that Keith would hate it. Their friends hate it enough when they show too much affection around each other – he can hear Pidge’s dramatic gagging sounds in the back of his head, and he knows Matt would have plenty to say if he caught Shiro talking on live television about how soft Keith’s hair is.

            “I doubt anyone wants to hear about how pretty I think Keith’s eyes are.”

            “That’s where you’re wrong,” Veronica sing songs. “But that’s not quite what I meant. He’s your muse. You’re the Romance King and every single one of your best sellers were written after you two got together. Every love story you write has pieces of your real life relationship in it. That’s why the reviews always talk about how genuine it comes off.”

            The wind picks up outside, swirling the falling snow into a blurry rush of winter, like the chaos of a well shaken snow globe. Maybe the freezing weather will actually do them some good and chase away any paparazzi skulking around outside. It seems like a stretch dream, but Shiro still hopes.

            “You really think just proving how much I love Keith will make people like me more? Or are you saying it’ll paint us into a power couple, like when everyone was saying that Brad and Angelina were relationship goals?”

            “Both, but even more than that. Right now your fans feel lied to. You were hiding your relationship—”

            “It wasn’t their business,” he cuts in.

            “I know, I know,” Veronica says soothingly. “I get that. But my point is that people are eating this up because they’ve really wanted to know for a long time, and they feel like the tabloids are dishing juicy secrets. What you need to do is spill some secrets of your own. If you emphasize the fact that you slipped Keith into everything you wrote, it’ll make your relationship seem like a big secret even though we all know about it now. _Plus_ , it makes your reputation as a queer lit author go up because not only do you know what a gay romance is like first hand, but you actively write realistic ones based off your own experience. That shuts down any of the claims they’re making about you doing it just for the money.”

            It’s smart. Veronica is clever and knows how to read people, and it’s why she excels at her job. But the way she’s pitching it doesn’t feel right in his chest. It takes Shiro a moment of staring out at the snow to figure out why – she’s not telling him to lie or to share anything that isn’t already public, but still he can’t shake the overwhelming sense of dishonesty about it all.

            Finally he puts a finger on why he’s so bothered by it. “Wait a minute. I don’t want to exploit my relationship just to sell books. If people are going to buy them it should be because they like my work, not because they think Keith and I are cute together.” It’s an echo of something Keith said to him a few weeks ago. Shiro deepens his frown.

            “You wouldn’t be exploiting it for book sales. You’d be using it to prove you’re a good guy, and to save your reputation.” Somehow that doesn’t make it sound any better. “You know, this could even help Keith. If people know him as your partner, his artwork could get more attention. You could even promote him.”

            Shiro winces. That’s the same thing he said to Keith. He hadn’t realized it sounded like this. “Keith doesn’t want that. He wants success on his own terms, from his own skills.”

            Veronica hums a soft noncommittal sound that makes him feel like she disapproves of that. Maybe it’s the agent in her, thinking mostly about the PR opportunities. She doesn’t say anything more about it, at least. “All I’m telling you Shiro is that this is the best plan I have.”

            “There’s really nothing else we can do?” Shiro sighs.

            “Nothing else you want to do, anyway. And nothing else as effective as this.”

            He trusts her on that, but it does open the door to curiosity. “You make it sound like you thought of something else.”

            She sighs, apparently disappointed he asked. “You _could_ break up.” Shiro makes a sound in protest, jumping up in his seat, but she plows forward, “For real or for show. Stage it and pretend you’re broken up but keep going in secret. More secret than you guys have been trying to do lately, that is.”

            Shiro gives a low hum as he considers it. It would mean denouncing Keith publicly, which would be painful, and difficult to do convincingly. And then they’d have to keep up a life of secrecy that neither of them has really been prepared for. “How exactly would this help? Am I breaking up with him to be loyal to my nonexistent other partner? I don’t see how the press would just let that go.”

            “They wouldn’t. It would take a while for us to fix your reputation and a lot of careful PR work to get rid of the perception that you’re a cheater. The only real benefit this plan has is it would get Keith out of the spotlight.”

            “No one cares about my ex after the gossip’s had some time to rest,” Shiro mumbles.

            “Exactly. I still think the first plan is the better one to go with, but if you really want to do a break up instead, that’s up to you.”

            Shiro takes a long moment, weighing the two against one another. Either way there are issues with each plan, and neither sounds all that satisfactory. But the only other option is to do nothing at all, which seems worse.

            “I think I’m going to need some time to decide.” Especially because the conversation he needs to have with Keith about all this is a conversation that’s best done in person. Somehow he’s going to have to avoid the press and get to Keith’s building.

            “Mmm, well I’m going to need a response soon. There’s not a lot of time to set up this press conference.”

            Shiro shifts in his seat, pushing the chair back from the desk and spinning it to face the clock on the wall. “How soon is soon?”

            “Before noon tomorrow, max.”

            That’s tight, but it’s probably more than he should have expected. “Alright. I’ll let you know.”

 

            It’s past eleven when Keith hears a knock under the sleepy hum of his working playlist. He’s somewhat covered in paint, with dried smears of red and black itching the side of his arm from the dragon he’s been finishing up tonight. It’s taken longer than he expected, but it’s almost done. Probably just an hour’s work left.

            He carefully sets aside the paints and scrubs paper towels over his hands on his way to the door. No one said they’d be coming over, but they don’t get many door to door solicitors over here. Either the knocker has his apartment mixed up with someone else’s, or they have something urgent to say.

            The peephole doesn’t tell him much. Whoever it is is bundled up tight against the snow, barely showing an inch of skin. Keith hears warning bells in his head. He turns, snatches up the box cutter he left resting on the end table where he usually drops his keys, and leaves the chain on as he opens the door.

            “Can I help you?”

            The visitor tugs down their scarf, revealing a long pink scar across the bridge of their nose. “Sorry, it’s me,” Shiro mumbles low, as though someone else were listening. “Can I come in?”

            Keith’s quick to unlatch the chain and usher him inside. “What are you doing here? Aren’t we being watched?”

            “We are,” Shiro nods. It knocks his hat loose enough for the streak of white bangs to show. “That’s why I’m wrapped up like this.”

            Keith sets the blade back down and comes up beside him, reaching out to help untangle the lengthy scarf Shiro’s buried himself in. “You look like a big marshmallow. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

            “I texted but you didn’t see it. I figured you were working.” He nods to the easel and the stereo that’s still playing.

            “Ah. Yeah, that’ll do it. What’s up?”

            Shiro takes back the scarf and starts folding it up while he talks, fiddling with the fringe at the ends. “I talked with Veronica. She had a couple of ideas for what we should do.”

            Keith eyes him carefully. “You don’t sound like you like them.”

            Shiro looks down at his scarf and takes a short breath. “It’s not that they’re bad,” he says to his hands, then looks up to meet Keith’s gaze again, “they’re just not great.”

            “Okay… What are they?”

            “She wants me to tell the press that I write about you. Set the record straight and then take it a step further by talking about all the parts of us I put into Akira and Sven, or Ryou, or Yorak.”

            Keith shifts, crossing his arms against the vulnerable feeling that idea draws up in him. “That’s personal,” he says, as though Shiro doesn’t already know. Shiro nods in agreement.

            “Apparently it’ll make the truth seem more exciting,” he says, and he sounds just as disinterested in that idea as Keith feels.

            “Why does it have to be interesting. The truth is the truth, that’s all it is.”

            “Because people choose what they want to believe, and they’ll only go for something that excites them.”

            That right there is a good summary of how bullshit this whole thing is. Keith scowls, drawing his arms tighter around himself. “If they’re not going to believe what you say just because it’s not as exciting as some rumor they heard, are they really worth it?”

            Shiro sighs. “Sometimes even good fans get swept up in the stupid hype. Either way, if the truth is exciting, people will start talking about it more than the tabloid nonsense they read today.”

            This is the best way to save Shiro’s reputation and protect his sales. Keith frowns down at the floor for a long moment. It’s bad enough Shiro gets harassed about his private life in interviews. But now their relationship is hurting his career. A dream career that he’s been working toward for years, jeopardized by a single night at a chain restaurant and a goodbye kiss on the front step.

            “The other option,” Shiro says slowly, heavily, like admitting defeat, “is to tell the press we broke up.”

            Keith jerks back. “Do you… should we?”

            Shiro jolts forward, raising a hand and rushing out, “No, no no no, I don’t want that. This would be fake. To throw them off your back.”

            They’re quiet, apart from the music. Shiro leaves his hand up, hovering between them, reaching for Keith but not quite committing to it. The way he looks at him says Keith’s done something to make him wary. Maybe it’s the way he’s still staring wide eyed and anxious, or the way he’s half turned himself away, curled around his crossed arms like that’s enough to protect him from the situation they’re in.

            “I… I don’t want to put you through this,” Shiro says softly. “You didn’t ask for any of this.”

            Keith eyes him, not sure what to make of that. Not sure what Shiro’s implying. “Neither did you,” he says slowly.

            “I know, but…” Shiro pauses, brings that hovering hand back and up to rub the back of his neck. His eyes dart to the couch, ashamed. “It’s not fair to you, to have to put up with problems that are caused by the way I live my life.”

            Keith turns back to him, barely resisting the urge to stomp his foot. “You don’t get to decide that.” Shiro jumps, taken aback by the force he says it with. “I decided I’d be here for anything your life throws at you – that’s what it means when I say I love you. I caused this problem just as much as you did, anyway. I’m not gonna let you give me an out and leave you behind in the wreckage.”

            “Keith,” Shiro breathes. Keith blinks and then huffs, keenly aware of how much he’s just opened himself. It’s not as bad with Shiro, but it’s still not always easy. Still leaves him with the childish urge to run and hide.

            Shiro does reach for him then, stepping forward and clasping him by the shoulder with a strong hand. Keith bites back on the reflexive smile, because this is serious.

            “Keith,” he breathes again, “none of this is your fault.”

            “Then it’s not yours, either,” Keith mumbles back.

            Shiro closes his mouth for a moment, and finally some of the guilt fades from his eyes.

            “Alright,” he says eventually. “We’ll handle it together, then. No break ups, real or staged.”

            The tight knot of tension that weaved its way around his ribs gives way, and Keith slumps forward into half a hug. “Good,” he mutters against Shiro’s shoulder. The way Shiro looks down at him makes his stomach flip. “I did not spend the past four years putting up with terrible jokes just for you to walk away like that.”

            “Never, baby,” Shiro swears and ducks his head. Keith tilts his chin to meet the kiss halfway.

            They shift to the couch after, curled up around one another with the throw blanket draped around them both.

            “We still have to decide what to do,” Shiro says. Keith hums in acknowledgement.

            “I don’t want to tell people about the personal things you put in your characters. I don’t care that you do it,” he adds, catching the apology before it escapes Shiro’s lips, “I just don’t want to… advertise, I guess. If they notice then good for them. Otherwise it’s our little secret.”

            There’s a glimmer in Shiro’s eyes, the light of a realization, and it has Keith blushing before he even says anything. “You think it’s romantic.” Keith ducks his head, which is as good as a confession anyway, and Shiro hugs him closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

            “I love you,” he mumbles into his hair. Keith’s fingers curl in his shirt.

            “I love you too.”

            “We don’t have to tell them. I just know Veronica thinks setting the record straight won’t be enough to fix what’s already been done.”

            Keith settles deeper into Shiro’s warmth and thinks. There has to be something else ‘exciting’ they could say that doesn’t actually invade their privacy. Something that would be public knowledge if they’d gotten to announce their relationship the way they wanted to, the way they’d planned for January. His mind flitters to his underwear drawer and the New Year’s gift he’s been hoarding away for nearly a month, but a press conference is the last place he ever imagined himself presenting it. Especially not when everyone will have just put together that he’s been Shiro’s partner for the auction and his book jackets this whole time.

            “Wait.” He pulls away, straightening up and turning to face Shiro fully. Shiro straightens in return, brows pinched up in question. “The tabloids don’t know I’m your illustrator.” If they’d stuck with the January announcement, it would be obvious by then, but now… “Do you think that’s scandalous enough to get people to focus on the truth?”

            Shiro tilts his head, considering. “It’s worth a shot, at least, right?”

            “Yeah. A lot of, um,” he stumbles over the word, face flushing again, “a lot of married couples do books and illustrations together, as a team. It’s kind of a romantic thing, probably…”

            Shiro nods eagerly, eyes glimmering with a little bit of a far off, dreamy look. “Yeah, it definitely is. We could do that, if you wanted. Show ourselves as a sort of team.”

            Keith wonders if that dreamy light is the creative process, if Shiro’s been hit with inspiration for his next piece, or if it’s something more personal, a more emotional longing. But now isn’t the time or the place to ask if Shiro’s daydreaming about marriage, when they’re trying to work out how to protect their relationship status.

            “We are a team,” he says instead. “I think if we’re going to be honest, that’s definitely something we can share.”

            Shiro smiles wide and runs a hand through his hair, staring at Keith like he put the stars in the sky. Keith knows he would have, if that’s what it took to make Shiro happy. He’d capture nebulas and seal them in little jars for centerpieces on Shiro’s table, just to make him smile.

            Later that night, loose and hopelessly infatuated in the afterglow of tender sex, Keith tells him as much, whispering between the sheets and their shared pillow. Shiro kisses him, long and slow, and promises he’ll write it in to his next novel.

           

            The auction itself is a subtler event than Keith expected it to be. He and Shiro arrive separately to avoid any unnecessary drama, and one of the Altea Art Foundation coordinators guides him to their display area. He hovers around as Keith unzips the big black bag he uses to carry canvases, asking, “Is there anything you’ll be needing? Can I offer you a complimentary drink? The event is catered you know,” and tugging at his bushy orange moustache when Keith says he’s alright.

            It’s a little intimidating to set up his paintings with one of Altea’s curators watching over his shoulder, but Keith takes a deep breath and pushes through. He’s not here to offer his art to the foundation anyway, so there’s no reason to be nervous. Or so he tells himself.

            “You painted this?” the man asks. Keith pushes hair behind his ear and nods once, quick and curt. “It’s quite good actually. I really like what you did here.” He gestures to the scaly detailing on the underbelly of the big black and red dragon in the second picture.

            Shiro wrote that the beast had slathered its stomach in gem shards to protect the vulnerability there, only to leave scrapes and cuts when they eventually fell away. Keith did his best to show the facets of the gems and the loosening of his scales from where they’d been wedged in. The curator traces one of those loosened scales with a careful finger and leans in so close his moustache is practically brushing the canvas.

            “Yes, very good. You have quite a classic style, I would say, although you’ve certainly brought your own spunk, too.” He straightens up and turns to offer Keith a hand, moving so quickly that Keith stumbles back in surprise before he can catch it. “Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe at your service.”

            Keith’s head spins trying to keep up with all the syllables he’s just been handed. “Uh, Keith. Kogane.” He already gave his name at the check in desk, but he can’t think of any other way to respond. Mr. Smythe gives his hand a few overenthusiastic shakes and a nod to match.

            “Well Keith Kogane, let me be the first from Altea to say I see great potential in your work.” Keith feels his mouth run dry, eyes going wide as he stares dumbly at the aged gentleman. He’s still holding his hand, though they’ve both stopped shaking. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a gallery to host an exposé, would you?”

            “I-I, I—”

            “Well, of course, it wouldn’t only be up to me.” He drops Keith’s hand like a hot potato and digs into his suitcoat, leaving Keith grasping at air and some understanding of what’s happening right now. Then with a flourish the man produces a sleek blue and white card and holds it out for Keith to take. “My card. I’ll run it by Allura, but for as long as I’ve known her I like to think I have a good understanding of what she likes to display here.” He winks, somehow turning it into a full body motion while Keith is still struggling to process the fact that he’s being handed a card by one of _Allura Altea’s_ close friends. “I know you’re here with Shiro, as his partner?”

            Keith flushes bright red. “We’re working together, yeah,” he mumbles. Mr. Smythe nods sagely.

            “Yes, exactly. Well,” he looks around them, leaning in close and making a great show of trying to be discreet, “we’re not making this offer available to _everyone_ here, of course – the guests today were mostly recommended by Castle of Lions, and while they’re good, not all of them have the exact _je ne sais quoi_ we’re looking for in our typical shows. But. We _are_ looking for artists to fill out our summer Pride event. Great exposure, if you’re interested.” He finishes with that sing-song promise and straightens back up, lifting a finger. “Just one restriction to applications, I’m afraid.”

            “What’s that?” Keith’s asking before he’s even finished processing the offer. There’s a sudden burning desperation in him to prove himself to the man in front of him. To prove his worth as an artist.

            “You have to be LGBT+. We do love diversity here, but there are certain events that are dedicated to showcasing a particular community, you understand.”

            Keith nods quickly, hair bouncing out from behind his ear. “Yeah, no, definitely. I am, too. Part of—yeah.” He hastily pushes his hair back and glances down at the card. It’s tasteful, clean pastels and a regal v shaped crest that he knows to be the Altea logo. There’s an email and a phone number listed neatly under the curator’s four lengthy names. Keith’s surprised to see he spells Smythe with a y.

            “Well then,” the man clicks his heels, “we’ll be looking forward to your application, won’t we?”

            He starts to step away, but Keith jerks forward and calls out to him. “Um! I just, thank you so much, Mr. Smythe. This is, great!”

            He pauses, half turned away, and gives Keith a massive smile. “Thank _you_ , for donating such beautiful art to a great cause. And feel free to call me Coran.”

            “Coran,” Keith repeats. Coran nods and takes his leave.

            It almost feels like a lucid daydream, but the glossy card in his hand assures him that really did just happen. Keith watches Coran head back to the lobby, then drops his gaze to the business card and traces over the sleek pink emblem. A chance for a showing at _Altea_. All because their head curator liked his art. It’s a dream come true for thousands of artists across the country. Part of him feels like he doesn’t deserve it, like he isn’t good enough, or at least like there must be someone better. But looking over at the pair of canvases on their displays he has to admit it’s probably his best work yet. He put so much effort into making sure these scenes would do Shiro’s stories justice.

            He looks down at the card once more and tells himself not to slam the door on an opportunity like this. Slipping it into his pocket, his fingers brush the crushed velvet of the little box he’s carrying, reminding him of the other reason he has to be giddy tonight.

 

            Shiro’s agent must have arranged something, because Shiro slips into the auction hall from a different hallway, sunglasses catching on the bright lights of the show room floor and winter cap tugged low over his brow. Keith sees the moment Shiro spots him by the flashing smile he sends his way.

            “Hey. Wow, these look amazing,” Shiro says when he comes up beside him. Keith beams under the praise, still reeling from the offer resting in his jacket pocket. Shiro takes off the hat and glasses and pulls out two slender, black, hard cover books, carefully arranging them in front of the paintings. “We figured they’d be better off bound,” he explains when Keith shoots him a questioning look. Shiro sets out the description cards and printed passages of each short story – previews of what people are bidding for. Then he takes Keith’s hand and gives him a nervous smile. “I hope they do well.”

            “They definitely will. Everyone loves your work.”

            There’s pink tinging the edges of Shiro’s ears. “Well, they might start a bidding war just to take home your paintings. One of the Altea people is out there talking about you, you know?”

            Keith blushes and tentatively starts to explain what just happened before they set out to introduce themselves to and mingle with the wealthy auction goers.

 

            Between the two stories and their companion paintings, Shiro and Keith pull in more than $10,000 for Castle of Lions. Watching the bids fly back and forth makes both of them dizzy, so much so that they start to lean on one another as the numbers hike higher, hands clasped tightly between them. Each time Allura slams down the gavel to finalize a sale Keith’s heart skips in his chest. When it’s finally time to leave the lobby and head to the autograph signings and the press, Keith feels almost like he’s having an out of body experience.

            Being detached from himself like that helps to ease any nerves he’d otherwise have as they make their way to the crowd of reporters and fans that Shiro’s agent managed to scrounge up last minute. There are hefty cameras and plush microphones littered all throughout the crowd, interspersed with the squealing teenagers and shouting middle age fans failing to chaperone them.

            When they stop in front of the crowd, the anxiety rushes up to meet him like a concrete sidewalk. Keith drops Shiro’s hand and crosses his arms instead, keeping a step behind him and staying quiet. The journalists and paparazzi clamor to be called on first until Shiro picks one at random.

            “Shiro, is it true that this man,” he gestures to Keith, “is the same man from The Galra’s article earlier this week, whom you were photographed kissing?”

            Shiro nods. “He is. This is Keith, my illustrator, and my boyfriend.” He nods to Keith, giving him the floor to introduce himself, but all Keith manages is an awkward wave and a half muttered hello. Thankfully Shiro doesn’t leave him hanging there. “He’s also the person in the Olive Garden photos, by the way. There is no woman, and there’s only one person I’m in love with.”

            That sets off another round of yelling. Everyone edges closer to them, until Veronica and the other hired staff at this mini press conference step in to push the crowd back. And so it goes.

            After wheedling the full story out – “How long have you been dating?” “Since before _Starlight_ came out.” “Do you live together?” “Not yet.” “What are your plans for the future?” “Well uh, we make a great team, so we’re going to keep working together and helping each other grow our careers.” – the air of doubt and demanding slips away, changing into a kind of awe that still leaves Keith uncomfortable, but at a much more tolerable level. People thinking he and Shiro are an ideal couple is weird, and probably not something he’s ever going to fully get used to, but it’s a far cry from thinking they’re some kind of wild, groundbreaking gossip.

            Once things are a little more settled, Veronica gives the event coordinators the okay, and the staff herds fans into a neat orderly line for autographs. Many of Shiro’s fans do little more than stare, starstruck and excited beyond words to be this close to him, but several of them surprise Keith when they ask that he also sign the inside of the book jacket.

            At first he supposes it’s because of the news that they’re together, but then one girl asks him, “You did the cover art, right? It’s so pretty – it’s the reason I bought the book in the first place. Can you sign it for me?”

            Keith has never taken such care when writing his own name before.

            “I’m so happy for you,” a few people tell them both. Shiro’s much better at thinking of a way to respond to that – all Keith can manage is a smile and a nod, but Shiro makes it sound genuine and from the heart when he thanks them for their support as well as their readership.

            “God, is this what it’s like to have a wedding reception?” Keith mutters to himself as the latest group of fans move on. Shiro catches it and bursts out laughing.

            “I’d hope you’d be a little more receptive at our wedding,” he mumbles back.

            Keith can’t help but tug his jacket a little tighter around himself.

 

            The good thing about the private gala is that in order to make the exclusivity feel genuine and to justify the hefty price tag of the invitations, press are banned from entering and cameras and other recording devices aren’t allowed. There is of course still a massive crowd of people with microphones shouting questions outside the event, but at the very least Shiro isn’t the only celebrity they’re hounding after.

            After the signings, Shiro and Keith parted ways to change into their masks and evening wear, so when Keith steps out onto the red carpet from the limo Altea provided for him, it’s the first look Shiro gets of his disguise.

            It’s a black tux with a vibrant red shirt underneath, elegant but still sharp at the edges. It’s that note of dangerous energy and the hint of a cowlick in Keith’s slicked back hair that Shiro recognizes him by, because the sleek black curve of the beak on his beautiful raven mask obscures nearly all his defining facial features. Shiro takes a moment to stare and then blink once at the heartstoppingly handsome man in front of him, and tries to understand how on earth it is this ethereal creature chose him over anyone else.

            Keith eyes him from where he stands ten feet away, looking Shiro up and down. His own silver wolf mask covers his entire face from the cheekbones up, but all the same he has a rather distinct silhouette, one that Keith is intimately familiar with. Or maybe Keith just knows, in that way of his, likely able to seek Shiro out even in blinding darkness. The way they are drawn to one another has always made it feel as though a supernatural force binds them – perhaps a red string of fate, he sometimes thinks, though maybe he’s waxing a little too poetic for his own good.

            Keith moves forward and breaks the spell and the hovering pause of Shiro’s breath.

            “C’mon, we should go inside.” He offers an arm which Shiro links with his prosthetic, and they turn to push past the crowd of press and paparazzi begging for photos and eagerly asking to know who is behind the mask.

            “It’s a shame we’re going to have to take these off later,” Keith says lowly.

            Shiro quirks an unseen brow and tilts his head to convey the effect. “Why’s that?”

            The raven’s beak shifts over the motion of Keith’s grin. “I kind of like sneaking around like this.”

            The doors are opened for them by staff, while another person with the Altea logo emblazoned on her badge directs them through a short lobby and into the main ballroom. Music can already be heard from within, along with soft chatter as the various artists mingle with the fans who were wealthy enough to buy the right to an evening with them.

            Shiro smirks down at Keith and teases, “So you do like being a spy after all.”

            Keith laughs and rolls his eyes. “I liked being a dragon more. I couldn’t find any good dragon masks, though.”

            “That would make it too easy.” Shiro nods to the rest of the room. “What’s the point in a disguise if everyone knows it’s you.”

            Keith sweeps his eyes around the room for a moment before settling on a group of people standing off to the right. Shiro follows his gaze and snorts. It’s a famous model whose stage name is Lotor – Shiro assumes it’s a stage name, at least. With his lengthy platinum hair and lacey purple and gold mask there’s no room for pretense that he isn’t recognizable.

            “Why don’t you try asking him,” Keith says low and sarcastic. Lotor laughs haughtily at the joke of a young woman in a cat-like mask.

            “I guess when your face is your job you don’t make a habit of covering it up.”

            “Good evening Mr. Wolf, and Mr. Raven.” Shiro turns and is met with the sight of what can only be Allura Altea, wearing an elegant pink and white gown with a matching pink mask. A fan of peacock inspired feathers cover the entire right side of her face, but there’s no disguising those silky waves of bright white hair.

            Still, Shiro plays along with her game. “Good evening, Madame Peacock. I hope the night finds you well?” He hears Keith try and fail to cover his snicker with a fake cough.

            “It does indeed. There are some hours before the midnight reveal. Will you join the dancing tonight?”

            As she says it Shiro notices the staff member making her way to the sound system’s set up, blonde hair swaying as she walks. “That depends on the dancing, I think. I’m not sure I know how to waltz.”

            Allura hums but smiles kindly at him. “Well, I can certainly try to teach you, if you like. Or you could simply mingle with our esteemed guests. In many ways this is the night of a lifetime for all of us. And that goes for you, too,” she turns to Keith. He straightens up, edging closer to Shiro automatically in surprise. “I’ve heard impressive things about you already. I’m sure there are plenty of people here who would be thrilled at the opportunity to chat. Or dance, should you feel so inclined.”

            A surge of pride rushes through Shiro’s chest, hearing that Allura has taken an interest in Keith. Even through the mask Keith looks overwhelmed and flustered, unsure how to react to the praise. Shiro reaches over and squeezes his hand as moral support.

            “Yeah, I… I’m honored. Thank you so much, Ms. Alte- I mean, ma’am.”

            Allura laughs, light and melodic behind her hand. “Please, feel free to call me Allura. I’m sure we’ll have the chance for a lengthier chat in the near future, after all.” The blonde woman finishes switching the music to a louder instrumental piece that’s fit for dancing. “But for now,” Allura says and half turns toward the side of the room that’s devoid of tables, where several guests are making their way with partners in arm, “I believe I will be needed on the dance floor. Enjoy your evening, my animal friends!” With a graceful little wave she takes her leave.

            As soon as she’s melded into the crowd, Shiro turns to Keith, gripping both his arms and grinning wide. “I’m _so_ proud of you!”

            Keith stares up at him with big, dazed doe eyes. “I still can’t believe Altea wants _me_.”

            “I told you your art is amazing. I’ve been telling you ever since we met.”

            Keith shakes his head, the edges of his smile peeking out from underneath the raven’s beak. “You did. I’m still just, processing. It’s a lot to take in, and it could be a huge step forward for me.”

            Shiro gives him a comforting squeeze. “Change doesn’t scare you, does it?”

            Keith slides his hands into his pockets and takes a moment before shaking his head. His voice is soft and tender when he says, “No,” almost reverent. “I think I’m ready for some big changes. That’s what New Year’s is for, right?”

            Something about the way he looks at him sends a pleasant shiver down Shiro’s spine. “Absolutely. A new year, a new us. And possibly a new hangover.” He laughs, pulse rushing at the thrill of making Keith laugh too. The sound is beautiful and mesmerizing. “God, I wish you’d picked a different mask, though.”

            Keith tilts his head, making himself look even more birdlike. “Why, what’s wrong with ravens?”

            “There’s no way I could kiss you with that beak in the way.” Shiro grins.

            It’s hard to tell, but he thinks Keith smirks up at him, eyes glimmering with a playful mischief. “You’re just going to have to wait for a midnight kiss, then.”

            “Oh yeah? You sound like you have plans.”

            Keith shrugs in a way that’s supposed to be nonchalant, but he’s trying too hard. Shiro’s hit the nail on the head, then. “Did you notice the sign for the stairs in the lobby?” he asks, eyes drifting away from Shiro and to the door they came in through. Shiro shakes his head.

            “You sure you’re not a covert agent?”

            “Well I’m definitely not a twenty foot lizard.” He turns back to Shiro with a challenge in his eyes. “I think I saw a second floor balcony when we were driving up, though. Betcha we can sneak up there.”

            “Lead the way, Mr. Bond.”

 

            They have to wait until just before the ball drops before the staff is distracted enough for them to slip across the lobby and over the red rope blocking off the stairwell. It’s juvenile but exciting to be sneaking around like this, like teenagers skipping class to make out behind the gym. It lightens his heart and makes him feel giddy, ridiculously in love with the dark haired man leading him up the forbidden stairs.

            At the top of the stairs is a short hallway that takes a turn at the end, and a pair of doors halfway down that give way to the balcony Keith spotted outside. The night air is crisp and cold enough to sting against their faces, but after the warmth of the crowded ballroom it’s more refreshing than uncomfortable. Keith takes Shiro by the hand and draws him over to the thick stone banister running along the edge of the building.

            It’s three minutes to midnight. They can’t see the giant ball of lights from here, but the fireworks that will be shot up over the city will be easy to spot from this vantage point. Keith crosses his arms over the stone and leans against it, looking up at the stars. Shiro settles down beside him and watches him watching the sky.

            There isn’t much of him to see, with the way the raven mask takes over his features and buries the contours of his face, but Shiro can’t help the warmth he feels in his chest all the same. It’s been a stressful month, to say the least, but for all of it to culminate here, on a secluded balcony on New Year’s Eve, at a prestigious gala, celebrating both their career accomplishments, makes it all seem more than worth it.

            The other attendees are out on the veranda connected to the ballroom, cheering and calling out from around the corner. Shiro catches a few glimpses of flashes of light that tell him the paparazzi are out there as well. All the better, then, that they snuck off on their own.

            The sound of voices chanting and counting down from 20 echoes off the buildings around them. Shiro grins wide and turns back to Keith, who’s already reaching up for his mask.

            15, 14, 13.

            Keith smiles up at him, untying the silky ribbons that hold his mask in place. Shiro does the same for his, gripping the wolf by its snout so it doesn’t go tumbling once the strings pull free.

            10, 9, 8.

            Keith steps into his space, eyes shining with excitement and an overwhelming force of love. Shiro’s heart flips in his chest.

            5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

            They tug the masks away and close the distance between them.

            “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

            It’s a playful kiss, big smiles pressed up against each other, each taking turns to lightly tug at the other’s lip. It’s soft and sweet and makes Shiro’s chest tighten with more affection than he can possibly contain. He pulls Keith in even closer by the waist and squeezes until they’re dropping their kiss and hugging one another tightly. Shiro lifts Keith up off his feet for a moment and swings him around, delighting in the sound of his laughter.

            When he’s back on his feet Keith leans up for another kiss, more sensual this time.

            “I love you,” he murmurs against Shiro’s lips. And then, “Marry me.”

            Shiro’s heart stops.

            Keith pulls back slowly, cheeks bright pink as he meets Shiro’s gaze. There’s a steadfast determination in his eyes that would steal Shiro’s breath away if he weren’t already breathless.

            “I want to marry you.” He dips a hand in his jacket pocket and draws out a little black velvet box.

            The reality of it all sinks in as suddenly as an anchor dropped in the middle of the ocean.

            “Yes,” Shiro says before Keith finishes opening the box. There’s a heavy burst of explosions overhead and a roaring chorus of people singing on the other side of the building. Flashes of red and green and yellow brighten his face as the fireworks erupt above them. Shiro feels their energy in his bones. “Yes!” He laughs, still breathless, and jumps forward, closing one hand around the ring box and wrapping the other around Keith’s waist to pull him in. “Yes, yes, _yes, oh my god Keith!_ ”

            They snap the box shut and Keith surges up, tangling one hand in Shiro’s hair to drag him down. The kiss is hard and feverish, until it’s broken by uncontainable laughter. His head his spinning, the world shifting and changing around him, but he clings onto Keith and that’s enough. Keith is the anchor that tethers him to this world.

            And now there’s a pair of rings to bind them.

            “I wanted to ask,” Keith tells him. “I was planning to do it tonight for a while now, before the crazy stuff started to happen. Before the paparazzi and the spying and the sneaking around to hide from the press.”

            Shiro kisses him again because he has to. He can’t keep himself back, can’t contain all of the emotions suddenly bursting from his chest. His eyes flood without warning and then he’s crying and laughing and kissing Keith and clinging to him, unwilling to let him go for all the universe.

            “I love you,” he laughs out. “And I’m so sorry about the craziness that’s been happening. And I’m so proud of you. And I just…” He has no idea what he’s even saying anymore, so he lets Keith kiss him quiet again.

            “I love you too,” Keith tells him, his own tears streaming down the sides of his face. “I want to start a family, I want to be with you, forever. As your partner for books, and charity events, and just life. Through anything, everything. Even press scandals and bathroom windows.”

            Shiro laughs hopelessly. “Are we going to tell them about this? Or wait until the tabloids find out?”

            Keith cocks his head and thinks for a moment, humming low in a way that tempts Shiro in for yet another kiss. God, he loves him. “Let’s see how long it takes them to figure it out.”

            Shiro snickers. “I give them a month.”

            “We were going to announce ourselves in January anyway,” Keith shrugs.

            He presses one last quick kiss to Shiro’s lips and then pulls back, opening up the little box. Shiro offers up his hand and reverently watches Keith slip the band on him, Beautiful silver with a stunning strip of rich red running through. A red string of fate.

            They both take a long moment to stare at it, watching the fireworks reflecting off the metal. Keith runs his thumb over the ring tenderly and then looks up.

            “A new year, a new us,” he parrots Shiro’s words back to him. Shiro smiles wide.

            “I think I’m ready for some big changes.”

 

            They stay out there for another half hour, alternating between staring in awe at the fireworks and staring in awe at one another. Their fingers intertwine, and every few seconds one will look down at the ring and lose his breath.

            Eventually the cold comes for them. When Keith is trembling against Shiro’s side, Shiro decides it’s time to come in. He turns, lightly tugging Keith to him and guiding him back the way they came. The party is still going – he knows by the sound of people laughing on the veranda and the occasional flash of a camera from the paparazzi stalking around outside.

            “Hey, I just thought of something.”

            Keith looks up at him from where he’s tugged open the door. “Yeah?”

            “We’re going to save a ton on our wedding.” _Our wedding_. The phrase makes his stomach flip with giddy nerves. This is real. They’re really engaged.

            “What, because we’re not getting a big dress?” Keith holds the door open behind him for Shiro to come through.

            “Well, there’s that, too,” Shiro agrees and reaches to take Keith’s hand back in his. The ring feels good pressed up against their skin. “But also, we won’t need to hire a photographer. All we have to do is tell the paparazzi where it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone gets screenshots of Shiro's next interview a week later, zooming in as he gestures with his left hand, and the internet explodes with rumors about a New Year's eloping.
> 
> \--
> 
> Happy New Year!  
> \--
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin) or [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/MapleMooseMuffin). <3


End file.
